


Singularity in a Moment

by chimera01



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: #GFY, Alternate Universe, Gen, Goblins Are the Good Guys, Goblins Have Major Power, I'm Gonna Save Sirius, Mentions Child Abuse, New Mythology Added, Take it From the Top!, There May Be Death, There Will Certainly Be a Pissed Dumbledore, There be no canon here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-06-04 21:38:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 144,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6676333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chimera01/pseuds/chimera01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Harry Potter had been told all of his eleven years that he was nothing; a freak, less than nothing.  But Harry had good instinct and the potential to be so much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: For Those of You Just Joining Us

**Author's Note:**

> Author Notes: Complete AU. Takes place in Year One, just after book "Chapter Five: Diagon Alley" starts—so, while on the underground on the way into London. In fact, just imagine that everything from Sorcerer’s Stone, Chapters One through Four, has happened as in canon, and shall only diverge once Harry is well on the way to the Wizarding World.
> 
> I don't have a Beta. I don't work with one. This is, however, not an opportunity for some of you to volunteer for that job. If I wanted one, I could have several. I like what I write. There may be mistakes or spelling errors that my spell-check does not find. Do not comment to correct me. If you don't like how I phrase something, don't comment to "correct" me. I have control of the delete button. However, if you have a legitimate point about the story that you don't understand, go ahead and comment. I like a good debate and intelligent discourse. Just make sure it's both of those things, i.e. good and intelligent. I control the delete button.  
> I think I'm pretty perfect just as I am, but be assured that if I write something I don't like, I will change it.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own it. J. K. Rowling owns it. I’m just playing with it for a bit. I may use direct quotes from the books, but I do so only to keep it honest while staying within canon.

 

 

** Prologue: For Those of You Just Joining Us **

 

_There are many popularly accepted myths surrounding Magic and its place in human existence._

_Some scholars believe that the continent of Atlantis was sunk beneath the waves of an angry sea because the scientifically-minded mortals turned away from the old gods and were punished for their hubris.  This is not true._

_What is true is that the Ancient Magicals that inhabited the small island continent of Atlantis drew away from the non-magical world in order to protect Magic.  The non-magicals of Ancient times were always looking for ways to exploit Magic, and the wizards and witches believed that to keep the Magic pure from exploitation they should pull away and keep Magical society separate.  The Order of Summerisle was formed to keep order in the Magical World, and it is headquartered on the continent of Atlantis, now known as Summerisle of the Deep.  The island is located off the coast of Agios Gordios in the Ionian Sea and is unplottable and invisible, hidden completely from non-magicals and almost totally forgotten by magicals.  The Wizards and Witches of Summerisle closely monitor the Magical World for misuse of Magic, seeking to prevent the rise of evil and corruption of Magic as it interacts with the non-magical world._

_Another common myth is that the Great Merlin, emotionally defeated by the death of Arthur, faded away into the Fairy Realm from whence he came, never to return to the mortal world again.  This is also not true._

_In reality, after the defeat of Arthur by the Dark Lord Mordred, Merlin asked the Lady Nimue to place him in a deep sleep until he could return to Summerisle—from whence he came._

_Merlin was not borne to mortal woman, as it is commonly thought, but is a construct of Wilde Magic—the purest Magic of all.  In the dawn of time, before all common life was formed on this earth, primordial energies swirled and thrashed and Wilde Magic was formed.  From the Wilde Magic came the Pure Magical Creatures: the unicorn, the alicorn, the phoenix, the dragon, the orthros, the griffin, the hippogriff, the sphinx, the thunderbird, the roc, the sea goat, the merfold, the shahbaz.  All of these wondrous creatures roamed wild among other animals that were formed into being and were plentiful.  Then the first Magicals were formed: Merlin, Nimue, Theseus, Andromeda, Domar, Cadmus.  These Magicals learned to wield the Wilde Magic and they trained in its use.  They were the ones to monitor how Magic was used once newly-born magicals came into the world._

_It was Merlin who set forth the Rules of Magic, so that Witches and Wizards would not abuse the Magic and harm the world.  It was the first Magicals that guided newly-born witches and wizards and taught them to work the spells and conduct the energy.  They formed the first Magic Schools in the Ancient World.  And when non-magicals sought to steal and corrupt the magic by way of warfare, deceit, and genocide, the Wilde Magicals created Magical Communities that were hidden away from the non-magical world and could not be found or entered by non-magical people.  The creation of Unplottable Lands was the first Great Achievement of the Magical World._

_Merlin’s Rules of Magic were meant to keep all people safe as well as to protect the land.  The Rules were few and simple:_

_Keep the Magic Pure_

_Do not corrupt the Magic with Greed_

_Do not corrupt the Magic with Contempt_

_Do not abuse the Magic in order to dominate those weaker than you_

_Use the Magic to feed Our World_

_Use the Magic to protect our Children_

_These simple rules allowed magicals to live in peaceful harmony with the Magical Lands and the creatures within.  They allowed magic to be cycled back into the earth so that the land was kept healthy.  When the Rules were broken, the Wilde Magicals took action.  Sometimes that action was harsh._

_When the Aztec Wizard-priests began to sacrifice non-magicals in order to gain power and influence, the Order of Summerisle took action against them and removed the Magic from that community._

_In Ancient Troy, when the Wizards attempted to subjugate the non-magical Greeks, the Order of Summerisle “charmed” a wooden horse to allow Greek military troops to overtake the walled city._

_When Roman Wizards in the Magical Enclave of Pompeii used magical means to enslave non-magicals, forcing hundreds of people to act against their will, the Order of Summerisle stripped the entire enclave of magic, disrupting the magical shields around the city and allowing the destruction of the city._

_Where once there were Magical communities around the globe, over time there were fewer.  The communities that followed the Rules flourished, growing stronger and larger, and bonding closely with the non-magical communities around them.  The Magical Creatures that once roamed widely through the world soon became confined to smaller areas that were kept separate and protected from the non-magical world._

_As time progressed, some of the Wilde Magicals moved away from Summerisle to teach elsewhere.  Merlin ended up in what is now known as Britain, where he taught natural magic to the wild folk in the deep hills.  Arthur Pendragon was a favorite student of Merlin’s, even though Arthur himself was not magical.  Merlin became a great advisor once Arthur took the crown, and he stood as a spokesman for the hill-folk in their dealings with the royal court.  During the height of Arthur’s rule, when peace filled the land, a wizard with delusions of grandeur rose above his station, flaunting the Rules of Magic and growing Dark.  His name was Mordred, and he was an illegitimate son of Arthur’s.  Arthur tried to bring Mordred into him home, but Mordred was jealous of Arthur’s power and sought to take it for himself.  Mordred siphoned power from the very land that Camelot stood upon and he used it against Arthur, and despite Merlin’s efforts managed a fatal blow against Arthur._

_In his grief, Merlin sent Arthur to Summerisle to be laid to rest and he let loose his fury onto Mordred, destroying the Dark Lord and damaging the Magical Land in Britain at the same time.  When the final sparks fell from the sky, Merlin asked Nimue to place him in an enchanted sleep so that he could heal physically and emotionally.  She agreed and encased him in a crystal shell so that the Wilde Magic could heal him.  While he slept, the Order of Summerisle began rebuilding the Magical land in Britain.  They installed four of their best students as teachers for all magicals in Britain, and those four eventually created a school._

_There is a common belief that there is a kingdom of dwarves living in rich splendor underground, far beneath the common world.  This is true.  It is also completely wrong._

_Another Wilde Magical race that came into being along with the Summerislanders is the Goblin Race.  They do indeed have a vast underground kingdom that stretches around the globe, and they have created special portals that allow them to access the surface world in specific areas.  Over time, because the Goblins are Pure of Magic and above reproach in ethics, the Wizarding people chose to have the Goblins keep their monies safe.  Thus was born Gringott’s Wizarding Bank, a universally trusted institution that has branches in or near every major Magical Community in the world.  The Goblins themselves excel in metal- and jewel-working, investment building, and secret-keeping.  The Order of Summerisle uses the Goblin Intelligence Network to keep tabs on possible growing Dark Lords (and Ladies) over the world.  The Goblins also report mis-use of Magic, especially when used against non-magicals.  When the Goblins report a possible danger, the Order of Summerisle acts immediately, sending special investigators into the world to make sure the Magical Land and its people are safe and secure._

_The Wizarding World knows that their confidences will be kept by the Goblins, but it is also well known that stealing or keeping secrets from the Goblins is a very, very bad idea.  Over time, while high government officials retained the memory of the Order of Summerisle, the rest of the Wizarding World has forgotten it.  However, the entire Wizarding World is aware that the Goblins have the strictest, most enforced security in the world.  Every Magical in the world is taught from a very young age: Never, ever cross the Goblins._


	2. Welcome to the Wizarding World, Meet the Goblins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a slight re-do of my original Chapter One. I fixed some things I was unsatisfied with, and added more boring exposition to round it out.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own it. J. K. Rowling owns it. I'm just messing around with it.

** Chapter One: Welcome to the Wizarding World, Meet the Goblins **

****

Singularity: 1. the state of being singular, distinct, peculiar, uncommon or unusual  
2\. a point where all parallel lines meet  
3\. **_a point where a measured variable reaches unmeasurable or infinite value_**.

 

Young Harry Potter sat in bemused silence as Hagrid droned on and on about Hogwarts, Magic, “The Great Dumbledore”, and just exactly how famous Harry himself was known to be.

The date was July 31st, and it was technically Harry’s 11th birthday.  Never before had he had occasion to celebrate such a day.  In fact, until he managed to sneak into his Uncle Vernon’s desk to find any hint of his birth family—a feat he’d only just managed to succeed at—Harry wasn’t even certain he _had_ a birthday.  Until he was sent to elementary school at age six, Harry wasn’t even certain his name wasn’t “Boy”, like on the old Tarzan movies that ran on the weekends.  Harry’s Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon made sure to spoil his cousin Dudley, who was only two months older than Harry, on his birthday—as well as every other day of the year, but Harry’s birthday was overlooked.

This year, Harry was certain it would be overlooked once again, as Uncle Vernon had been concentrating so hard on hiding the family.  For a week prior, Uncle Vernon had been moving the family, crammed tight into his automobile, from town to country to woods to seaside, all in an effort to out-run mysterious letters that had been showing up addressed to Harry, first at the “Closet Under the Stairs” and then at “The Smallest Bedroom” at Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey.  Harry had never gotten mail before, and he rather thought it would be a great birthday present, but Uncle Vernon had sputtered something about “Freaks” and “Not having one in the house, Petunia”, and destroyed the first three dozen letters that showed up at the house.

When a slew of mystery letters appeared at a small hotel on July 30th, Vernon had about blown apart!  He made a mysteriously sly shopping trip before loading the four of them into a leaky dinghy and rowing out to a broken shack in the middle of the sea in the worst storm Harry had ever had the displeasure of being in.  At midnight, when the worst day ever officially turned into the worst birthday ever, Hagrid—a giant of a man in a moldy, moleskin coat and wearing the bushiest of bushy beards—pounded through the drafty door of the broken shack, scaring everyone out of their wits and announcing that Harry was a WIZARD, and handed Harry another of the mystery letters—addressed to Mr. H Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea.

Very odd indeed.

Harry had been called many things in his young life: Freak, Boy, Useless Git.  Wizard was just another nonsense thing to him, until Uncle Vernon protested that he would have none of that tripe in his house and would beat it out of Harry if need be.  That was when Harry realized that this must be a real thing; that he was, in fact, a Wizard, and for some reason that frightened Vernon.

The letter contained an introduction to some place called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and a list of interesting and peculiar school supplies.  Uncle Vernon had objected to that, as well, saying that he would not be paying for any foolishness and would not be putting out money for Harry to learn “magic tricks”.  Hagrid put a stop to that sort of talk when he told Harry that his parents had made arrangements to pay for the schooling.  Harry questioned how someone who had died unexpectedly in a car crash could imagine their son would need special schooling, and that set Hagrid off once again.

After Hagrid scared the Dursleys into the only other room in the shack, he explained how Harry’s parents really died (killed by a sort of terrorist) and that his father was a famous Auror (Wizard Police) and his mother was good with potions, and that Harry—as an infant—managed to vanquish this terrorist after his parents were dead.  Hagrid was a bit light on the details of that, and Harry would have liked to have learned how an infant could vanquish anything, but he kept his questions basic and to the point.  He asked about the school and the supplies, which Hagrid said they would buy the next morning in London, and then he ate a bit and slept the possibly best sleep he ever had.

But his mind was constantly babbling at him in his sleep, and his dreams asked more questions than Harry had thought possible.

So, there he was, sitting on an underground train (that Harry had to buy the passes for, because Hagrid didn’t understand something called “muggle” money) beside a huge, strange man—who was knitting what looked like a yellow circus tent—and asking questions about the shopping trip.

“Are you sure we can get all of these supplies in London, Hagrid?” Harry asked tentatively.

“If you know where to look, you can,” Hagrid replied.

Harry had never been to London, or anywhere, really, but somehow he doubted that he could buy Wizarding Robes at H&M, or a cauldron at the Stratford Center Mall.  Harry decided to let that subject alone in order to touch on another that had caught his attention the night before.

“You said I was famous, Hagrid?  How famous, exactly?”

There was a slight pause, as if Hagrid was about to impart information that he really should not, and then he said, “People all over the Wizarding World were celebrating the night You-Know-Who was killed.  There were fireworks and bonfires all night that night, from coast to coast.”

Harry frowned, forehead furrowed deeply.  “But weren’t they concerned that my parents _died_? That seems a bit…rude, actually, to party when people died.”

 

Hagrid slipped a stitch.  “Well, they were just really happy, is all.  After, once things settled a bit, there was mourning and such.”

Hagrid looked as if he wanted to say more, but they were at their stop and had to get off the train.  Hagrid had very long legs, because he was so big, so Harry had to jog alongside him through crowded streets for a few blocks until he stopped at a rather unassuming door.  In fact, if Harry hadn’t been paying particularly close attention to where Hagrid was headed, he might not have noticed the door or the dirty sign hanging over it: The Leaky Cauldron.  Hagrid opened the door, and Harry was surprised to see a pub.  It looked just like any pub on the telly, except for the so-very-oddness of the people occupying the space.  They were all dressed like play-actors from some sort of Faire, in robes of various color and style, and they definitely would have stood out on the street in front of the building.  While Harry gaped at all the strange people, the fireplace flashed bright green and several more strange people stepped out of it.

Very odd.

Hagrid was speaking with the barkeep, an older man with silver-grey hair and missing teeth, when Harry heard his name—and everyone in the place stopped speaking and turned to look at him.

Then they all lined up to look closer at him, and to shake his hand and say what an honor it was to meet him.  Harry was quite sure that he shook one man’s hand several times.  It was all very disconcerting and not a little alarming.  If this was just a pub, what would school be like?

Hagrid introduced Harry to an oddly-dressed young man wearing a bright purple turban (and who smelled strongly of garlic), and told him the man would be one of Harry’s teachers at Hogwarts.  The man, a Professor Quirrell, stammered a greeting without a handshake, and told him he was looking forward to having him in class.  Once Quirrell backed away and disappeared into the crowd, Harry asked what the man taught.  Hagrid told him that Quirrell was the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and was very good.

Harry somehow doubted that very much.  Clearly he needed a lot more information about the Wizarding World and Hogwarts, and he needed it well before September First, when he was to board some train to the school. 

And just where was this school, anyway?

Harry followed Hagrid through the pub and into an alley, where there was not another doorway—just a brick wall and some garbage bins.  Hagrid pulled out his pink umbrella (pretty sure that was a wand—and where was he hiding that, anyway?) and began to prod some bricks in the wall.

“Three up…two across…and stand back, Harry.”

The wall began to fold into itself and open, forming a perfect archway to a beautiful cobblestone lane lined with all sorts of fascinating shops and displays.  There were pots of very interesting substances in front of a shop labeled “Apothecary” and towering cauldrons of various sizes and properties piled in front of the cauldron shop.  Harry peered through windows to see inside shops he could not imagine shopping in, but Hagrid shoveled him along the street.  Harry had no money for supplies, and he voiced his alarm.  Hagrid only smiled benignly and said they only needed to make one stop first.

“Gringott’s Bank, Harry!” Hagrid exclaimed.  “I’ve got your key from Dumbledore, and you’ll get your money for shopping there.”

“What is Gringott’s Bank, Hagrid?  I’ve never heard of it.”

Hagrid smiled at the question he could answer with authority.  “Gringott’s is the Wizard Bank.  They have branches all over the world.  It’s run by goblins, so it’s very secure.  Goblins are extremely honourable and very strict about security, and they love to make profit, so any Wizard that is worth anything has a Gringott’s account.  Some powerful families have more than one account, as a matter of fact.  There is no more secure or private place than Gringott’s.  Nobody would ever try to steal from there; the goblins would treat theft or fraud as Most Grievous Crimes.  Only a fool would try to sneak past goblins.  They keep secrets and money safe and wizards are smart to fear them.”

Harry nodded thoughtfully and glanced at more shops on either side of the cobblestone road.  He spotted the bookstore and a stationers, a robe shop and haberdashery, a pet shop, and something called Quality Quidditch Supplies, which had a large crowd of children gathered around the front display window—all exclaiming about a new racing broom.  It occurred to Harry that this Wizarding World might not be too bad, if he got to make potions and fly on a broom.

Soon they rounded a corner, and Harry was almost overwhelmed by the sight of a bright, white building with gilt lettering over an immense set of double doors: Gringott’s of London.

On either side of the double doors were two footmen dressed in old-fashioned livery, complete with ruffles at the neck and tri-corn hats.  When Harry got closer to the bank he could see that the footmen were slightly shorter than Harry—and they were not exactly human; shiny, beady eyes and sharp teeth glinting in the sunlight made sure of the impression they made.  These were surely goblins, and they did indeed look fierce.  One of the footmen bowed slightly to Harry and Hagrid as they entered the first doors, but he did not drop his eyes as a human would, and Harry bowed back—earning a sharp grin in response.  Once inside the antechamber, Harry was faced with another set of doors that were silver in color, if not actually silver in material, and were inscribed with engraved words:

**_Enter, stranger, but take heed_ **

**_Of what awaits the sin of greed._ **

**_For those who take, but do not earn,_ **

**_Must pay most dearly in their turn._ **

**_So if you seek beneath our floors_ **

**_A treasure that was never yours,_ **

**_Thief, you have been warned, beware_ **

**_Of finding more than treasure there._ **

 

Hagrid nodded grimly at the door.  “I told ya: ye’d be mad to try and rob this place.”

Another pair of goblins bowed them through the silver doors, and once again Harry bowed in return.  Once beyond the doors, Harry gaped at the wide open space before him.  The floor was marble, and it gleamed like a mirror, and on either side of the open floor were gleaming counters made of dark wood and topped with darker stone.  Goblins were spaced every three feet, much like a muggle bank counter, and several had long lines in front of them.  Several had no lines, but were obviously busy with bank business.  One was weighing deep, red rubies with a set of old-fashioned scales, and Harry was reminded of his supply list.

Hagrid approached a goblin that had just dismissed his last customer and waited patiently until the goblin summoned him to come closer.  Once at the counter, Hagrid produced a key—and other assorted junk—from a deep pocket in his moleskin coat, and announced that he needed to get Harry Potter to his school vault.  Then he placed a much-wrinkled, folded piece of paper on the counter and said he also had “special Hogwarts business with the item in vault seven hundred and thirteen”.  The goblin looked sharply at Harry over the glasses perched on his long, thin nose, and it reminded Harry of a rather disagreeable teacher he had several years back.

The goblin snapped his fingers and shouted “Griphook!”, and Harry was wondering if that was a special designation for bank business or if it was some goblin curse-word.  As soon as he had the thought, another goblin appeared in front of the counter right beside Hagrid.  The goblin “teller” addressed the newcomer.  “Griphook, take Mr. Hagrid to the deep vaults and escort young Mr. Potter to Axesmith’s office for his school business.”

“Now, wait a minute,” interrupted Hagrid.  “I’m supposed to make sure Harry has money for his supplies, and I’m not supposed to leave him alone!”

The goblin teller shot Hagrid a seething glare.  “Do you doubt our ability to care for an important client, Mr. Hagrid?  Perhaps you would like to explain how Gringott’s has disgraced you so, that you would not allow us to do our job?”

Hagrid blushed furiously.  “Now, I never said nothing like that.  I just have a job to do.”

“Yes,” sneered the teller. “You have a job to retrieve something from a vault in the Seven Hundred Block, which Mr. Potter does not have clearance to enter.  What part of your transaction, then, should we not allow you to proceed with?  Will you take Mr. Potter to his personal vault, or will you perform your other duty?  Clearly today you cannot do both!”

Hagrid seemed to struggle with indecision before he turned to Harry.  “Will you be alright if I leave you for a short while?  I really have to run this errand for Dumbledore.”

Harry gave a half-grin.  “I think I’ll be fine, Hagrid.  I just have to take out some money for school stuff, right?  It can’t be all that bad.  I’ll just meet you right here, in the lobby, when I’m done.  Or you can wait for me if you finish first.”

Once that decision was made, Griphook the goblin took Harry’s key from Hagrid, took Harry to an office at the end of the huge lobby, knocked once on the door before entering—leaving Harry and Hagrid standing outside a bit bemused—and exited again after only a minute.  “Mr. Potter, if you will wait right here, Axesmith will be with you presently.  Mr. Hagrid, please follow me.”  With that, Hagrid was off, following the goblin quickly as they made their way to a thick wooden door at the far end of the lobby.  Harry waited alone for only one minute.

During that lone minute, Harry took the brief time to review what little he knew about the goblins of Gringott’s Bank.  They were tough little guys, Harry knew, and they took no gaff from anyone.  Harry got that impression from how the teller talked down to Hagrid, refusing to back down despite being so much smaller than Hagrid.  They were an honorable people, and very trust-worthy, else the Wizarding World would have issues keeping all of their wealth in the Bank.  They seemed to value honesty and respect above everything else.  Harry showed respect when he returned the bows as he entered the bank, so the goblins were likely to be deferential to Harry.  Harry certainly hoped so, as he had questions and desperately needed answers.

Soon enough, the office door opened and another goblin, this time wearing what could easily pass as a regular business suit, ushered Harry inside and offered him a seat.  Harry glanced around the office, but found it to be bare of decoration.  There were no framed certificates or photographs on the walls, or ornamental rugs on the floor.  The only ornamentation was in the form of ornate light sconces on the walls that shone with flickering flame like a gas lamp.  The office was mainly occupied by a large wooden desk and stiff-backed chairs in front of it.  Behind the desk was an ornate leather chair that almost dwarfed the goblin when he sat in it.

“Mr. Potter,” said the goblin without the sneer present on the teller’s face, “I am pleased to see that you have finally answered our summons to deal with your personal accounts.  I feared out efforts to reach you might have failed.”

Harry was confused.  What summons?  What efforts to reach him?  Were all of those mysterious letters from the Bank?

“I…I’m very sorry,” Harry stammered, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.  The only letters I ever got seem to have been from the school, and my Uncle Vernon kept those from me.”

The goblin, Axesmith, frowned, and it was not a pleasant expression.  “Do you mean to tell me that you are not here to accept the Heir Rings to the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and the Ancient and Noble House of Black?  Do you reject your heritage and inheritance?”

Harry shook his head.  “No!  I would never reject anything like that, sir…um, Mr. Axesmith.  I just honestly have no idea what you are talking about!  I’m here with Hagrid to get school supplies before term starts in September.  I don’t know anything about Heir Rings or an inheritance, honest!”

With a deeper scowl, Axesmith jabbed his long, boney finger at a button on his desk and garbled a mangled response to the tinny voice that answered the call.  Then he jabbed at another button, and a human-sounding voice responded to that call—but it wasn’t a language that Harry understood.  Axesmith garbled another, longer response, and Harry had the discomforted feeling that he was being scrutinized very carefully.  The human voice replied once again before Axesmith jabbed that button once again.  Then Axesmith turned back to Harry with a “supportive smile” on his face.

It was not encouraging.  Harry swallowed deeply.

“I’m really sorry, sir,” Harry stammered quickly.  “About the ring thing, I mean.  I didn’t even know about being a Wizard, really, until Hagrid explained it all yesterday.”

Axesmith nodded slowly.  “Yes, we gathered that.  And that is both a problem and a cause for great concern.  I have sent for the Bank Director so that he can answer questions for you, and so he can explain your role in the Wizarding World.  Another Wizard has been sent for as well, but he will not be available for a few days.”

Harry sat straight upright.  “Oh, no!  Look, I’m only supposed to be here long enough to get money for school supplies.  I don’t think I can hang around here for a few days.”

Axesmith smiled again, a very toothy smile.  “Mr. Hagrid has been taken care of, Mr. Potter.  Griphook was instructed to place Mr. Hagrid into a time-controlled descent cart.  Time will not pass for him, Mr. Potter, until we are done our business here today.  No harm will come to him, but it will give us a chance to instruct you in some very important things.  Once our business is concluded, Griphook will release the time control and Mr. Hagrid will continue with his business as if nothing has ever happened.”

Harry’s expression brightened a bit.  “Is that a Magical World thing, then—the time control bit?”

“Not exactly, Mr. Potter,” said Axesmith as a door opened in the rear of his office. Another goblin, older than Axesmith and dressed in a pinstripe suit, entered carrying several thick file folders piled high and topped with two black leather boxes.

“The Wizarding World holds many mysteries, Mr. Potter,” said the new goblin, “and we at Gringott’s are afforded several privileges that are unknown to the majority of the Wizarding World.  Greetings to you, Harry Potter.  My name is Ragnok Sharptooth, and I am the Director of the London Branch of Gringott’s Bank.”

Harry stood out of respect and offered his hand in greeting.  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Sharptooth.”

The goblin looked surprised at Harry’s polite, deferential greeting, but he shook the boy’s hand.  “My name is Ragnok, as was my father before him and his father before him.  Sharptooth is simply my designation, as would be ‘The Third’ after a surname in the non-magical world.  You are a very polite human child.  I find that very refreshing.”

Harry half-smiled in confusion but retook his seat in front of Axesmith’s desk.  Ragnok settled his stack of files on top of the desk and walked to the front of it so that he stood closer to Harry.

“When you came into the Bank, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnok seriously, “we were certain that you were here to finally claim the beginning of your Magical Legacy.  Therefore, we were understandably dismayed to find that that was not the case.  We were even more dismayed to find that the personal vault key, the one that was entailed to you, was not in your possession at all; rather it was in possession of a man who  should never have  had access to the account.  It is clear to Gringott’s, Mr. Potter, that you are entirely ignorant of the Magical World in an unforgivable manner.”

Harry blushed furiously.  “I’m really, really sorry about that, but it wasn’t my fault, Mr. Ragnok.  My Aunt and Uncle never told me about being a wizard.  I was told that my father was a drunk who killed them both in a car accident.”

Ragnok and Axesmith both scowled darkly.  Ragnok began to dig through the files on the desk, pulling one from the middle of the stack.  He opened it and began to read.

“James Charlus Potter, son of Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, grandson of Henry and Dorea Potter.  From the line of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter, from the line of the Ancient and Noble House of Peverelle, connected to the Ancient and Nobel Houses of Black and Stinchcombe.”  Ragnok looked up sharply at Harry.  “Clearly this man was not a drunken wastrel.  His family history is rife with honorable and decent wizards and witches, and his is a Line you should be proud to belong to.  This World knows you, Mr. Potter.  They shall expect much from a member of such a distinguished line.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Ragnok?” Harry asked.  “How can people who don’t even know me expect much from me?  My own family doesn’t even expect much from me!  They basically hate me and treat me like a servant, so they only expect me to do my chores and stay out of the way!”  Harry sat back angrily in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.  “What do these people think they know about me, anyway?”

Ragnok appreciated the distress coming from the boy in front of him.  Clearly the most important Magical Heir in recent times was left woefully ignorant of his situation, and Gringott’s was beholden to rectify the situation.

“Mr. Potter, on your way to the Bank this morning, did you happen to notice many of the shops that lined Diagon Alley?”

Harry looked up.  “Yes, I did. And some of them looked rather interesting.”

Ragnok smiled.  “Indeed they are rather interesting.  Did you happen to notice the location of Hermes Historical Bookworks?”

Harry thought for a moment before replying in the affirmative.  Ragnok nodded and began to write on a blank piece of parchment, using a jeweled feather quill—something Harry had never seen before.  “Then might I make a suggestion, since we are here to answer any questions for you before presenting you with your Legacy.  Take a short walk to Hermes and look for these books. You should not buy them, but look through them.  They will undoubtedly give you more questions, but they will answer the first question that you had for us: What do those people expect from you?”

Harry accepted the parchment and looked at it.  Instead of book titles, like Harry expected, there was a short list of numbers, about fifteen in total.  They weren’t card catalogue numbers like Harry was used to, so he figured they were reference numbers.  Harry stood and tucked the parchment into the pocket of his oversized trousers.

“Um, thanks.  I’ll be as quick as possible.”

“Take your time, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnok as he also handed Harry a shining red-gold coin. “When you return to the bank, present this token to any available teller in the lobby and you will be escorted back to this office with no questions asked.”

Harry nodded and left the office, walking cautiously to the front entrance and out the massive doors.  He stood on the ornate terrace long enough to get his bearings before descending the marble stairs and entering the Diagon Alley shopping district.  He wandered past Flourish and Blotts, which was the bookstore listed on his supply list, only briefly glancing through the large window so see other children shopping with their parents.  Several doors down was a faintly washed-out shop with a small front window and a dark green door.  The gilt lettering on the door pronounced it to be Hermes Historical Bookworks, so Harry pushed open the door and stepped in.

Harry was immediately reminded of the local neighborhood library.  Massive oak bookshelves lined most of the walls in the surprisingly large shop, with rows of more shelves filling the interior.  At the far end of the shop was a huge desk covered with papers and files and a registry book.  A lone witch sat behind the desk, looking very much like the older librarian Harry had dealt with at home: dark hair with several silver strands twisted up in a tidy knot on top of her head, black metal-framed glasses hanging folded from a jeweled chain around her neck, waiting to be perched upon her nose at a moment’s notice, a tense mouth covered with a splash of color, and a dark-colored dress ornamented with a tacky broach on her shoulder.  Harry pulled his list from his pocket and approached the desk slowly.  The witch looked up and smiled kindly at him.

“Yes?  Can I help you, young man?”

Harry cleared his throat.  “Um, yes, thank you.”  Harry handed her the parchment and said, “I was asked by the Goblins to look through these books, please.”

The witch took the parchment and glanced at the listed numbers before returning the list.  “You’ll find those books in row six on shelf nineteen.  Did you need to buy copies, or will you be taking notes?  I can loan you parchment and ink, if you need it.”

Harry offered a grateful smile.  “I’ll just look through them for now, if it’s alright.  If I need to make notes, I’ll come back.  Thank you, ma’am.”

Harry walked to the center of the display floor and found row six of tall shelves, and he walked down the row until he found shelf nineteen.  It was covered with books in many topics, but the reference numbers were clearly printed on the spines and easy to read.  Harry quickly found the books on his list, and he was horrified.

_Harry Potter and the Great Dragon Race_

_Harry Potter Visits the National Museum_

_Harry Potter and the Mysterious Opal of Doom_

_How the World Changed Through the Potter Sacrifice_

_The Death of a Dark Lord: Harry Potter Gives All_

_Harry Potter Saves a Unicorn_

A great many of the books looked like children’s books, but a few were written as historical essays.  The Goblins gave Harry a list of fifteen books, but there were many more on the shelf, and by the copy date on the oldest one, they were being written when Harry was just a baby being hidden in the cloak closet under the Dursley’s stairs.

With shaking hands, Harry closed the last book and replaced it on the shelf.  He gave a wave to the witch behind the desk and exited the store, hiding himself in the bustle of the shopping crowd until he re-entered the Bank.  He quickly joined a short teller line and handed his token to the teller a short moment later.  He was immediately taken back to Axesmith’s office, where he was seated and handed a cup of strong, hot tea.

“I can’t do this,” Harry stammered.  “I can’t go to a school where all the students think I’m some kind of hero!  They’ll expect me to know all about those stories!  It’s not fair!”

Axesmith and Ragnok allowed Harry a moment to gripe and sip tea before they interrupted his solitary tirade.

“Mr. Potter,” said Ragnok softly, “it appears that we have a much larger task ahead of us this day.  Let me give you a bit of a history lesson, and then we will see if you are indeed worthy of the Heir Rings set for you.  Afterward, I shall arrange for you to receive the money for your school supplies….”

“No!” shouted Harry, interrupting.  “I won’t need the supplies, because I’m not going to that school!  I get plenty bullied at my normal school, thanks, so I’m not setting myself up for that where people can use magic!”

Axesmith leaned forward over his desk.  “Mr. Potter, whether or not you actually physically attend Hogwarts this term, you will need magical training and you will need the basic supplies for that training.”  When Harry made motion to protest again, Axesmith continued, “Consider this, if you please: Perhaps it can be arranged somehow for you to have a tutor for at least one school term?  In that case, you should be fully prepared to study, even if not at Hogwarts, and shopping for supplies will give you proper cover for your next encounter with Mr. Hagrid—since it was his duty to take you into Diagon Alley for that express purpose.  But, if you can make your way back here within the next two days, we can explain further your role in Wizard Society and supply you with a proper tutor for your magical education.”

Harry was silent for a moment before answering, “Well, if I can convert some of the money into normal money, I can maybe make my way back here.  I remember how to get through the wall behind the Leaky Cauldron, so I won’t need an escort again.”

Ragnok smiled; a toothy, satisfied smile.  “Very good, Mr. Potter.  Now, let me give you the unacknowledged truth about your parents’ death and what your role is in Wizarding Society.”


	3. Chapter Two: The Order of Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter to introduce the troublemakers in my story. I hope you learn to love them as I have; they'll be around for a while.

** Chapter Two: The Order of Things **

****

The Solarium of the main headquarters of The Order of Summerisle was the most-used room in the entire building.  It was a large room, which was good, but it was also the most comfortable room.  Along the shorter walls, which were thirty-feet long, there were bookshelves that were filled with historical accounts of most every Magically Significant Event in human history.  The shelves were built from dark mahogany, which accented the deep oak paneling of the room in a most pleasant way.  On the northern side were the accounts of important magical discoveries and inventions like spells, charms, and potions—what they were, who invented them, and where the basis for the magic came from.  On the southern side were accounts of magically “important” people; those that fought for Magical Purity, those that fought against Magical Purity, and those that thought ruling the world might be a good thing. 

The long, western wall was occupied with the large double-doors to the Solarium and two dozen paintings of landscapes featuring magical creatures in their natural habitats.  Some of the paintings were hundreds of years old, since most of those habitats were no longer in existence.  While the creatures themselves could still be seen, they were kept in protected areas much like natural zoos, so the paintings were a joy to behold.

It was the fourth wall that made the Solarium so well-used.  It was a long wall, almost fifty feet long, and it was covered floor-to-ceiling with solid-paned windows.  The view was spectacular and relaxing: an unobstructed expanse of Ionian Sea dotted with Greek fishing boats and rippled with the odd dolphin or two breaking through the waves to say hello to the sun.  The windows faced eastward, so the Solarium was a favorite for early breakfast meetings.  Beyond the windows was a long balcony wide enough for several table-and-chair configurations and a buffet to hold the day’s offerings.

The Solarium was furnished for high comfort, with several groupings of over-stuffed armchairs and end tables and four large, luxurious sofas.  There were ornaments placed indiscriminately around the room, but nothing was too ornate so that it detracted from the natural appeal of the view.  The carpets that covered the rich wooden floor were jewel-toned and well-kept, showing no wear and tear even though they were probably hundreds of years old.  The sconces on the walls were supplied with No-Burn Candles, providing light in the evenings with no smoke to cloud the air.

The room was occupied, on this day, by several Order members who were between cases.  Lady Nimue of Avalon, appearing as ageless as she ever could, was resting in a deep armchair with an emerald green throw over her legs.  She held in her lap a large, leather-bound tome dedicated to Merlin and the history of Camelot.  It was Nimue’s favorite book, mostly because of the amusing inaccuracies it held as “truth”.  Nimue could, if she so chose, adjusted this history to reflect true fact, but she rather liked reading how the common man saw the past, even if they all thought it was nothing more than myth.

Madame Mageara Stilton and Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington, both high-ranking members of the International Confederation of Wizards and Witches, were seated at tournament-level chess table, watching as their pieces throttled each other in the name of sportsmanship.  Wizarding Chess was a violent activity, but was harmless to the players; it was the pieces that took a beating, and an old chess set could be quite vociferous about the choice moves the players insisted upon.

In the corner of the room, near the Histories and the painting of the Hunting Roc, a quartet of Order Members sat quietly discussing the potential final match-ups for the Quidditch World Cup that year, which would be played in Egypt in August.  The clear odds, according to two of those members, were for France and Romania, but the other two were arguing for Germany or Bulgaria.  Britain had not had a good enough National Team for some years, so they weren’t even in the running.  The discussion was spirited but quiet, as everyone respected the sanctity of the Solarium.

Until, that is, Gabriel Manzini, Special Investigator for the ICW, stormed into the Solarium with his cloak whipping around his shoulders like angry wings.  Manzini stomped over to the chess table, grabbing a spare chair and spinning it around so that he could straddle it, and leaned forward intently, causing a pause not only in the players of the game, but in the pieces.

“They have finally found the Prophesy Child!” Manzini announced to the suddenly silent room, causing Lady Nimue to almost drop her treasured book.

Mageara lowered her dainty glasses to the tip of her nose so that she could look over them.  “I beg your pardon?  Do please not refer to the boy as ‘The Prophesy Child’.”

Manzini scowled darkly.  “Fine!  The Potter boy has finally come out of hiding!  Is that better?”

Mageara lifted one delicate eyebrow.  “Well, I’m not sure that’s better or not.  However did you find him?”

Manzini stood and spun his chair around again so that he could sit and lean backward.  “I just received a message from the Goblins at Gringott’s London.  The boy showed up this morning to get money for his school supplies without a care in the world, as if we haven’t been trying to find him for the past ten years!”

“Oh,” said Nimue softly from her seat across the room, “I highly doubt that he had not a care in the world.  How was he found by the Goblins, Gabriel?  Was he healthy?  Was he comfortable?  Tell us the truth, Gabriel.”  Nimue was normally a soft-spoken woman, but she had almost unlimited power so she commanded much respect.

Manzini straightened in his chair indignantly.  “Axesmith told me the Potter boy was confused by his ‘welcome’ to the Bank, as he was practically accused of shirking his duties to two Ancient and Noble Houses.  He also reported that the boy was dressed in extremely over-sized clothing but he seemed very under-weight.”

Nimue smirked and Manzini blushed gracelessly.  “So, it would appear that the Potter child was not in hiding on purpose.  Very good, Gabriel.  What exactly did Axesmith want?”

“He’s requesting an inquest in the name of Harry James Potter.  It seems the boy had many questions, which led to the Goblins having many more questions, and there are many extreme discrepancies in the Potter accounts that need to be investigated.”  Manzini sighed.  “This isn’t just a Law Enforcement issue, Lady Nim; if I find what I think I’ll find, the Order’s suspicions of a Rising Dark Lord will have been proven.  Ragnok himself has requested my presence as a representative of the ICW.”

Mageara Stilton swept her chess pieces into a leather pouch and curtsied prettily to her opponent.  “Well, then, I suppose I shall go and pack a bag.  After all, Gabriel simply can’t conduct an investigation without his partner.”

When she hurried from the Solarium, Porpington chortled softly.  “You’ve got a good one in her, Gabriel.  Mags will drag out all _sorts_ of illicit information for you, while you strong-arm all of the official suspects.”

Manzini quirked an eyebrow at the middle-aged man seated next to him.  “I wouldn’t count yourself clear just yet, Bert.  If what Ragnok and Axesmith suspect is true, you may be call in to play the part of Magical Guardian for this young man.  He’s not had a lot of people on his side, and Axesmith reports that he’s too intelligent to be allowed to wallow in ignorance.”

Porpington sputtered.  “Oh, hell!  I’d best contact Morrie to clean out the old manor house, then.  I can’t well house young Potter in my townhome in London.  He’ll be too popular to be protected in Town.  Are you sure they’ll want me?”

Manzini nodded.  “Your track record within the Wizengamot is spotless and you are recognized as a Royal Peer as well as Wizarding Nobility.  Your personal life is also above reproach, so there will be no problems handing a child into your care.  Quite simply, there is nothing you want that having Harry Potter in your custody will give you, so you are the best choice.  You have no angle to play here, and I know the Order will vouch for you.”

Porpington nodded and piled his chess pieces into his own transport box and left the room to pack his own belongings.  Gabriel Manzini looked around the Solarium at the remaining people.  The World Cup debate continued as if never interrupted, so Manzini left them to it.  He crossed the room to the seating group occupied by Lady Nimue, and he joined her by the window.

Nimue smiled at him and opened a new leather-bound book, draping it across her knees so that it was visible to both her and Manzini.  She scooted closer to Manzini so that they could share the book.  Manzini accepted the silent invitation, knowing that Nimue would have a reason for sharing the information.  He removed his dark, woolen cloak and settled in the chair next to her, crossing his right ankle over his left knee and leaning closer to his friend.  He began to read.

 

**_The History of the House Elf_ **

_When Magic was most Wilde and had not yet touched humanity, magical peoples of all walks roamed the world and cared for lands and creatures.  The High Elves were custodians of the wild places and the animals that roamed the woods.  They venerated the alicorns and unicorns and kept peace with the dragons.  When humanity began to encroach on the wooded areas, the High Elves took the creatures and hid them away to keep them safe.  They feared humanity and wanted to keep the Magic safe._

_Then the Wilde Magic began to seep into humanity, and Wizards and Witches began to emerge in the world.  The wild places became home to humanity and the High Elves removed themselves from the physical world.  When they withdrew, the smallest of them offered to use their magic to aid and serve the new Magicals: they became known as House Elves and they gave freely of their magic to serve Wizards and Witches._

_It was decreed by Wilde Magic that House Elves would never use their magic against the humans they served, and in return they would be venerated and protected. The power of the Wizard or Witch would bring health and good welfare to the House Elf.  The House Elf would never try to raise itself above the Magicals it served. To do so would bring disgrace to Wilde Magic and the Elf would be punished most harshly._

_The House Elf was granted the power to run a household, to keep secrets, to raise children, to treat illness, to deliver testimony—all to bring ease and health to the Wizards they served.  In return, the Wizard gave honor and respect to the House Elf; he would never treat the Elf harshly, would never abuse, would never force the Elf to act dishonorably or lie or steal or kill.  To act dishonorably would be to bring insanity, and the insanity would kill the Elf.  To kill an Elf would be an affront to Magic Itself._

“Why,” asked Manzini when he finished the passage, “are we reading about something so basic?”

Nimue leaned back in her chair and closed the book softly.  “Sometimes, dear Gabriel, it is easy to see the basic and ignore it, totally forgetting that some things are not so basic to everyone.  Please keep that in mind when dealing with the Potter boy.  He may not have been hiding in earnest, you know.  It is entirely possibly that someone hid him away for some nefarious purpose.”


	4. Chapter Three: Harry and the Goblins Start to Hash it Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place before the previous chapter--and a little bit concurrently.

** Chapter Three: Harry and the Goblins Start to Hash it Out **

****

Harry Potter fidgeted in his chair in Axesmith’s office.  Before him on the desk sat several opened files filled with details of his parents’ lives during and after their tenure at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.  On top of the pile of files sat two dusty leather boxes.  This was the cause of Harry’s current stress.  He knew he would have to do something with those two rings before he rejoined Hagrid for an “official” trip to Diagon Alley.  Harry was sure the Goblins could have used a time-thingy on him like they did on Hagrid, but the hour was growing late and there was shopping that needed to be done.  So the Goblins agreed to wait on the “Family History Lesson” until Harry could find his way back to Diagon Alley in a few days’ time.

But now….

“So,” Harry said softly, “what am I supposed to do now?  Is it going to hurt?”

Ragnok smiled a little, showing no teeth this time.  “All you must do, Mr. Potter, is simply put the Heir Ring on your right hand.  Any finger will do.  If you are found worthy of the Legacy of the Noble and Ancient House, then the ring will fit itself to your finger.  We will, of course, try the Potter Heir Ring first, as you are the last of that line.”

Harry swallowed nervously and picked up the black leather box.  He opened it cautiously, only to reveal a shiny, golden ring with a black cabochon stone in the center mount.  On either side of the center stone were small square-cut emeralds with gilded etching on the surfaces.  Harry pulled the ring out of the box to examine it more closely.  The etching on one side was a coat-of-arms depicting a bird-of-prey crossed with a wand over a book.  On the opposite side was a stylized _“P”_ over a five-pointed crown slashed with a divided triangle, line, and circle design.  Mentally shrugging, Harry slipped the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand.  It glowed golden for a slow moment before shrinking to fit his finger perfectly.

Harry smiled at Ragnok and said, “Well, I guess that means I’m the Potter Heir, right?”

“You are, indeed, Mr. Potter,” said Ragnok, pleased.  “Now, for the Black Heir Ring."  Ragnok handed the red leather box to Harry, but when the boy opened the box—it was empty.  Harry gaped at the empty box, but Ragnok narrowed his eyes in deep consternation.

“Um, I take it you didn’t know the Ring wasn’t in there?”

“No,” Ragnok drawled, “I did not know.  There is only one reason that the Black Heir Ring would be missing, and that matter shall have to be dealt with after you have left the Bank.  Now, Mr. Potter, Axesmith shall escort you to your school vault so that you may withdraw some funds for your shopping.  Before you meet with Mr. Hagrid, we shall exchange some funds to non-magical money so that you may make your way back to us in a few days.”

“Um, okay,” said Harry as he stood up.  “But don’t you think Hagrid will notice the new ring?  He might ask really odd questions that I don’t know the answers to.”

Ragnok hummed for a moment before pressing his thumb lightly onto the cabochon on the ring, making it shimmer slightly before disappearing from sight.  Harry could still feel the weight of the ring on his hand and he marveled at the wonder that was magic.

Harry followed Axesmith to the door, pausing when Ragnok called to him.  “Mr. Potter, if I may offer some advice?”

“Yes, sir?  I’d appreciate anything you can tell me.”

“After you withdraw money from the school account, allow Axesmith to take you to the Potter Family Vault.  Spend a bit of time looking through the wands of your ancestors, Mr. Potter, and find one that works well for you.  Mr. Hagrid will be taking you to Ollivander’s Wands to get your ‘official’ wand, but the Ministry has mandated that trackers are placed on student wands.  I would have you take a Potter Wand from the vault so that you may use it to call the Knight Bus for transport back to us.”

Harry frowned.  “How do I use a wand to call a bus?”

“Very simply, you hold your wand hand out in front of you and the Knight Bus will come to your location.  Be prepared for an abrupt appearance, and do not eat or drink before you call for the Bus—nor while you are riding on it.”

Harry smiled and held out his hand to Ragnok.  “Thanks again, Mr. Ragnok, for everything.  I look forward to learning more from you.”

Ragnok shook Harry’s hand and sent him on his way.

Once Harry and Axesmith were on the way to the carts, Ragnok went into his own office and used the fireplace Floo to call his main contact at the ICW.  The missing Black Heir Ring was a concern.  The only reason for the ring to not be in the box would be if it was already on the finger of the Black Heir.

If the Black Heir was wearing the ring, then there was a serious problem.  The Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black had been Arcturus Black III, before his death six years prior, and the Family Heir was Sirius Orion Black.  Sirius Black had worn the Heir Ring since the age of seventeen, when his mother failed to remove him completely from the family line.  Once Sirius’ best friends, James and Lily Potter became parents to Harry, naming Sirius Godfather, Sirius wrote a Legal Will declaring Harry to be his Heir as well, until such a time that Sirius met a life partner and became a parent himself.  Ten years prior, Sirius Black was accused of, and arrested for, the murder of thirteen non-magical citizens after leading the Dark Lord Voldemort to the Potters’ secret hideaway, and he was sent to Azkaban Prison for life.  If he had been guilty of such a crime, Magic would have found him to be dishonorable, and the Heir Ring would have been magically returned to the Black Family Vault to wait for the next Heir.

If Sirius Black was not guilty, but was imprisoned anyway…that was cause for an investigation.

 

                   ****@@@@****

 

Harry thought the trip down to the vaults was the most fun ever!

The tiny mine-type cart was fitted with a candle lantern to provide light even though the tunnels were lit with torches.  Harry had to stop himself from leaning too far over the side of the cart as he watched the tracks fly by.  The speed of the cart might have been frightening to some, but Harry relished the wind in his face because it felt like freedom.  There were tunnels and bridges and waterfalls, and Harry was sure he even saw a blaze of fire far below him and he wondered if it might have been a dragon, but he didn’t want to ask.

At the vault, Axesmith took Harry’s golden key and fitted it into a small fissure in what looked like a solid rock face, and a hidden panel slid open to reveal a deep cavern-like room filled with glittering coins.  On the rock island, Hagrid had explained what the money value was, but Harry had only seen two strange-looking coins: the bronze knut and the silver sickle.  Harry knew the knut was the smallest denomination—and the smallest coin—and the values were: seventeen sickles to a galleon and twenty-nine knuts to a sickle, so that meant there were four hundred ninety three knuts to a galleon.  Axesmith told Harry that one galleon was equal to fifteen British Pounds, twenty-four American Dollars, twenty-two Australian or Canadian Dollars, or twenty-one Euros.

It was understandable, then, that Harry Potter, who had never had much good in his life—and certainly no money of his own—was dumbfounded at the sight of the piles of golden galleons, silver sickles, and bronze knuts.  Lots and lots of piles of coins.  More money than Harry even knew existed!

Harry took the offered leather pouches and filled one with several handfuls of all three coin types, and shoveled into the second pouch the equivalent of four hundred Pounds.  Harry figured he would need the non-magical money for stuff like regular clothing that actually fit and a taxi to the underground station if this Knight Bus thing didn’t work out.

Once his pouches were full, Harry got back into the cart for a trip further down into the depths of the bank.  The trip was short, but was long enough for Harry to worry about not having a key to the Family Vaults.  When the cart shuddered to a stop, Harry voiced his concerns, but Axesmith waved them away.

“For the High-level Family Vaults, keys are not necessary.  You will have to prove to the vault that you have a right to enter it, so you shall have to bleed a small amount on the Vault lock.”  Axesmith brandished an ornate black-metal dagger and gestured for Harry to offer his hand.

Harry held out his hand and allowed Axesmith to prick his finger, and he held his bleeding finger to the rock wall where he was instructed, and the wall shuddered and shook from disuse before sliding open to accept Harry as a rightful heir.  Harry stepped into the vault with wide eyes.  It was deeper than his school vault; several chambers deep from the look of it, with high ceilings and walls covered with art and armour and pieces of stained glass.  Harry looked back over his shoulder and asked where he should look for wands when a tall wardrobe opened in a far chamber and blue light drew his attention.

Harry crossed through two chambers to reach the wardrobe, and the blue light grew brighter the closer he got.  Harry opened the doors wider to find several rows of mounted wands, lining the doors, walls, and shelves of the wardrobe.  They were all different lengths and thicknesses, all different types of wood, all very shiny and bright—as if they were kept in good repair all this time.  When Harry leaned forward to get a better look at the different choices he had, several of the wands began to vibrate as if trying to get his attention.  Harry reached into the wardrobe and let his right hand, and the Heir Ring, hover over the vibrating wands, and one—dark and twisted and knotty—practically jumped from its mount into Harry’s hand.

When Harry closed his hand over the wand, he felt warmth climb from his hand to his shoulder to fill his entire body, and a small shower of green and blue sparks shot from the tip.

“Wicked!” Harry exclaimed with a huge grin.  He leaned forward to read the bronze placard on the wand mount, to see who previously owned this wonderful wand, and he was startled to see the name _Lily Anne Evans Potter_.  “Mum!” Harry whispered, and he held the wand close to his heart.  On the back of the wand mount was hanging a brown leather sling, so Harry grabbed that as well before closing the wardrobe and returning to the Vault door.

Harry offered a water smile to Axesmith as the door closed behind him, sealing tightly until Harry could return.  “There’s a lot of cool stuff in there, Mr. Axesmith.  I could spend all day in there just looking around, but I suppose we have to go meet Hagrid now.”

Axesmith nodded gravely.  “I might suggest placing the wand holster on your non-wand arm, Mr. Potter.  Garrick Ollivander will be measuring you closely to find the wand meant for you, and it would not do for him to notice that you already have one.”

Harry nodded and fastened the holster to his left arm and slipped his mother’s wand inside, then he climbed into the cart for the wild ride back to the surface.


	5. Chapter Four: Moving Forward Without Looking Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurred to me, when I re-read Sorcerer's Stone recently, to wonder how exactly Harry got home after his shopping trip in Diagon Alley J.K. Rowling made a point to show that Hagrid just dropped Harry at the train station and disappeared into the crowd, and when next we saw him he was marking days until he had to meet the school train. I hope to deal with that discrepancy, and I touch on it here.
> 
> *direct quote from Sorcerer's Stone*

** Chapter Four: Moving Forward Without Looking Back **

 

Harry was standing at the edge of the bank lobby waiting for Hagrid and looking at his school supply list.  There were a lot of things on the list, and most of it looked to be quite bulky.  Harry had placed his reserve money pouch, the one containing his non-magical money, into the front pocket of his hand-me-down jeans, but he was still holding the pouch with the wizard money.  It was not a small pouch, but he could carry it with one hand—if he wasn’t carrying much else.

How was he going to manage all those supplies?

“It’s quite a lot, isn’t it?” asked a female voice from behind him.  Harry spun around in surprise and found a girl around his own age standing behind a teller line.  She was standing close to an adult couple, who must have been her parents, but they were not dressed like wizards; they were obviously a non-magical family.  The girl that spoke to Harry was just an inch shorter than Harry and was quite thin, with bushy, out of control hair, wide brown eyes, and slightly large teeth. She offered a friendly smile, so Harry smiled in return.

“Yeah,” said Harry softly, “it is a lot of stuff.  I’m not sure how I’ll manage to get it all home.”

The girl shrugged and glanced at her parents, who were exchanging pound notes for galleons.  “We saw this shop, just to the side of the Alley next to the bank.  It had all of these trunks and cases and satchels piled up outside of it, and it was called ‘Travers Cases and Trunks’.  We’re going there before we go shopping, because I’m going to need to carry my supplies home, too.  You might want to check it out.”

Harry thanked the girl, but was cut short when her mother called, “Hermione, it’s time to go now,” and the girl smiled and left.

Harry watched after them for a short while until movement from the cart area caught his attention: Hagrid was staggering into the lobby, and he was looking rather green.  Perhaps Hagrid didn’t enjoy the trip into the vaults as much as Harry did.  Harry approached the large man quickly.  “You don’t look so good, Hagrid.”

Hagrid groaned and rubbed his belly.  “I’ll be alright, Harry.  Besides, I’ve got to make sure you get yer supplies.”

Harry deliberated for a moment before cautiously responding, “Um, why don’t you get some tea or something, Hagrid, so you can get settled.  I can start with the robe shop and get my uniforms.  That might take a while, and you can meet me there.”

The large man looked at Harry with relief.  “Are ya sure ya don’t mind?  I don’t like to leave ya alone fer too long.”

Harry smiled brightly.  “I’ll be fine.  And I’ve memorized the list, okay, so if I’m finished at the robe shop you can meet me at the next shop, which looks to be the bookstore.  But I’m sure being measured for robes will take a while.”

“Alright, then, I’ll pop off to the Leaky Cauldron and get a pick-me-up, and I’ll meet you outside Madam Malkins’ shop.”

Harry followed Hagrid out the massive doors of the bank, where his life changed dramatically earlier that morning, and he waved Hagrid off before doing some strategic shopping of his own.

There, off to the left of the bank, just like the kindly “Hermione” said, was a cluttered shop covered in piles of trunks, cases, handbags, carpet bags, and satchels.  The bright yellow sign above the door was letter in shiny black calligraphy, and read: **_Travers Cases and Trunks—Storage for All Needs_**.  That was just the shop that Harry needed.  He jogged lightly down the marble steps and headed for the storefront.  He knew he needed a school trunk, but he didn’t want one that was heavy and hard to carry.  Once he entered the shop he found the section marked for “School Trunks”, but none suited Harry at all.  For one thing, Harry wasn’t even certain he would be attending Hogwarts come September first after all.

While Harry stood deliberating different styles and sizes, a salesman approached from behinds a huge pile of wardrobes.  “Hello, young sir,” he said with a smile.  “Are you looking for a Hogwarts School Trunk?”

Harry wrinkled his brow in consternation.  “Well, I am looking for storage for school supplies, but I don’t like any of these.  Do you have anything…different?’

The salesman faltered for a moment before brightening.  “We have several other options in the back room.  Did you have anything in mind?”

Harry shrugged.  He held out his shirt as an example and said, “As you can tell, I’m not exactly from a magical family.”  The salesman nodded in understanding, so Harry continued.  “My uncle has this huge suitcase that he uses for vacations.  It’s a hard-side—do you know what that is?” 

“Yes, indeed I do,” said the salesman.  “My aunt has a muggle-born neighbor who travels extensively, so I have seen her luggage.”

Harry grinned.  “Yeah, so my uncle’s suitcase is a hard-side, and it has a retractable pull-handle and wheels, so it’s easy to move.  Do you have anything like that?”

The salesman clapped his hands together in delight.  “Yes!  I have a small selection of that type of trunk, fresh from Switzerland.  We don’t have much interest in them as of yet, so I haven’t put them on display, but there are several sizes and all are available with all enchantments that we provide.”

Harry’s eyes grew wide.  “Um, what types of enchantments are there?”

The salesman took Harry into a rear storage room where he was shown several pull-along trunks that looked like non-magical travel cases, and Harry was told about all the available enchantments: multiple chambers, privacy locks, cold food storage, library shelves, sleeping quarters, indexing for books, wardrobe hangers, cloak drying chamber.  There were many choices, and many sizes of cases, and Harry decided to pick a size-large (four feet long, three feet wide, three feet high) with multi-chamber rooms, indexing (so he could rapidly find anything he was looking for), security charms (keyed to Harry’s thumbprint and a blood drop), permanent feather-light charm, wardrobe hooks and bars, stationary drawer with a mail slot (to send and receive mail without use of post owls), library shelves, and a small cold-food storage.

Harry also chose a cross-body bag with enlarged interior enchantments and a permanent feather-light charm so that he could carry books, notebooks, and writing implements without shoulder strain.  He had the privacy and security charms placed on the bag as well, just in case Dudley found the bag and tried to get into it before Harry had the chance to get away from the Dursleys.

Harry happily paid for his trunk and bag, promising to tell everyone where he got the wonderful pull-behind trunk, and then he headed back onto the Alley to buy his robes.

A tingly bell rang when Harry opened the door to **_Madam Malkins Robes for All Occasions_** , and a cheery witch carrying a notepad and a tape measure greeted him with the words “Hogwarts, dearie?”  Harry nodded and he was escorted deeper into the shop.  “I’m Madam Malkin. I’ve got another young man getting set right now, but he’ll be done soon.  Come right in and we’ll get you all set up.”

*In the back of the shop, a boy with a pale, pointed faced was standing on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes.  Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

“Hello,” said the boy, “Hogwarts, too?”*

Harry made a non-committal shrug, but the boy barely noticed.  “My father is next door getting my books, and my mother is looking at wands.  Are your parents getting your things as well?”

Harry glanced at the blond boy, but he was looking in the mirror.  “I’m here with a family friend,” Harry said, finally.  “My parents were killed when I was just a baby.”

“Oh,” said the boy as he turned to face Harry once again, “That’s too bad.  Do you know which House you’ll be sorted into?”

Harry shrugged slightly, trying not to interrupt the witch who was measuring him.  “Well,” said the boy, not noticing Harry’s lack of comment, “nobody really knows where they’ll be sorted, but I’m certain I’ll go into Slytherin.  Everyone in my family has been in Slytherin.  After I leave here, I think I’ll drag my father off to look at racing brooms.  I think it’s horrible that first years aren’t allowed to bring their own brooms.  Do you fly?”

“I haven’t yet,” said Harry softly, “but I’m looking forward to it.”

“It’s the best thing ever,” said the boy as the witch whipped the finished robe over his head.  “Oh, Merlin, I can’t believe they allow people like that to just walk around!”

Harry turned his head swiftly to look out the massive picture window, and saw Hagrid, looking much better, standing just outside the shop, holding two massive ice-cream cones and waving at Harry.  Harry looked back at the disapproving boy and said, “He’s my friend.  He came to bring me shopping when I got my school letter.”

The blond boy lifted his chin arrogantly and sniffed.  “I see.  Well, that’s good, I suppose.”

The witch that had been working with the boy grabbed her notepad and stood up, announcing that she was finished and that his robes would be ready by the end of the day, so the boy moved to the door, glancing backwards on his way out.  “Well, I suppose I’ll see you at school, then.”

Harry shuddered slightly and Madam Malkin chuckled softly.

“There are all types of wizards, young man,” she said gaily.  “You just stay the way you are, dearie, and you’ll do just fine.  Hagrid is a fine man to know, and a good friend to have.”

Harry smiled down at her as she continued to pin away.  “He’s been very nice to me so far, and it looks like he’s gotten me ice-cream as a treat.”

Madam Malkin smiled up at him.  “Well, then, let me finish this one hem and you can be on your way.  The full set will take a few days to be ready.”

Harry nodded.  “That’s fine.  I’ll be back in a few days, so I can pick them up then.  Do you do anything other than school robes and formal stuff?  I’m in need of a decent wardrobe that fits, and you seem to have my measurements.”

“I do robes for most formal occasions, but Twillfit and Tattings handles day-to-day clothing.  If you like, I can send the measurements to them and you can stop by to choose your style.  They’re located behind Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

“Thank you, Madam Malkin.  I should go and get that ice-cream before it melts all over Hagrid.”

When Harry left the robe shop, Hagrid handed him a towering ice-cream cone flavoured with chocolate and raspberry and asked him if he was having luck with his shopping.

“Well, I’ve only got a trunk and robes, but it’s been fine so far.  I have the books, potions stuff, and a wand left to do, but now that I have a place to put it all it should go fine.”

“I feel bad,” said Hagrid as he tossed his napkins in a bin.  “I haven’t got you a birthday present yet, and yer almost finished shopping.”

Harry gaped at the man.  “Hagrid!  You don’t have to get me a present!  You gave me my very first birthday cake.  You brought me my school letter and you brought me here to shop.  That’s better than any present you could get me!”

Hagrid frowned under his bushy beard, until he brightened.  “I know!  I’ll get you yer animal!  A toad’s no good, nobody wants that…I know!  I’ll get yer an owl!  Those are dead useful!  They carry mail and messages, and they’re right smart.  You go and get yer books and stuff, and I’ll meet you outside o’ Ollivanders when yer finished.”

Harry thought about the mail chamber in his trunk, and the fact that he really didn’t need a mail owl, but he figured a pet might be nice.  So he nodded to Hagrid and moved on to the bookshop, where he managed to collect all of his required schoolbooks as well as a few extra texts that looked like interesting reading, like _Hogwarts: A History_.  He might not be attending the school this term, but he figured he would eventually go, so he figured he might as well know as much about it as he could.  After Flourish and Blotts, Harry moved to the stationer where he found a special ink that changed colors as you wrote and a bronze-and-oak fountain pen that looked easier to use than a feather quill.

Harry bypassed Quality Quidditch Supplies because he did not require a broom as of yet—and he had no idea what Quidditch was—but he did look in the window to see what the fuss was about, and he had to admit that everything looked very interesting and exciting.  But he was more interested in Twillfit and Tattings Wizarding Clothiers, where he was assured he would find decent clothing that fit but didn’t look ceremonial.

And he did.  Twillfit was filled with racks and racks of robes, of course, but Harry was pleased to find trousers and button-down shirts and waistcoats, all very non-magical-looking and ready to wear alone or under open-front robes.  Madam Malkin was as good as her word about sending Harry’s measurements, so there was no issue with fitting him for new clothes.  In fact, once Harry was finished with his purchases, he wore some new ready-to-wear clothes out of the store, feeling much better for not needing Dudley’s old cast-offs anymore.

Of course, Harry kept them rather than throw them out, because he might need to change again before heading home at the end of the day.

The last stop on Harry’s list was Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands (since 382 B.C.), where Harry was going to get his “first” official magic wand.  Before entering the small, narrow shop, Harry gently touched the hidden wand under the sleeve of his left arm, using it as a good-luck touchstone.  Once he was certain that it was still there, and that he could manage not to give away the secret, Harry pushed open the door and walked in.

The shop was dark and dusty and closely lined with shelf upon shelf of tiny, thin boxes stacked floor to ceiling.  The dirty window barely let in enough light to see, but Harry could appreciate the air of privacy.  While he didn’t mind if anyone watched as he chose brass scales or a tiny telescope or books on Wizarding Customs, but he was nervous to choose a wand.  It somehow seemed more personal.  Of course, the shop was so small, Harry doubted that more than one person could fit in there anyway.

“Well, well,” called a voice softly from the dark reaches of the shop, “I thought I’d be seeing you soon, Harry Potter.”

An old man came from the back room.  He was tiny and thin, with wiry black and grey hair and silvery eyes that did not seem to blink.  “You look very much like your father,” he said, “but you have your mother’s eyes.  It seems like only yesterday that she was in this shop choosing the wand that was hers: ten and a quarter inches long, and swishy, make of willow.  Very good for charm work.”

Harry barely kept himself from touching the wand hidden under his sleeve while the odd man continued talking.  “Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand.  Eleven inches and pliable—good for transfiguration.  Of course, I say ‘he favoured it’, when in reality it is the wand that chooses the wizard.”

Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry and peered closely at him until Harry could see his reflection in those silvery, misty eyes.  Ollivander looked at Harry’s forehead and he reached out to touch the lightning bolt scar that was over his right eye.  All day long, Harry had managed to keep his unruly hair close to his eyes and to keep his head down, and nobody noticed the scar that those horrible books described in detail.  Until now, when the wandmaker managed to zero in on it like a target-seeking missile.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did that to you,” he said softly as he turned away toward the narrow counter.  “Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew.  Very powerful…and in the wrong hands, very dangerous.  Well, then, let’s get you measured, shall we, so we can find your perfect match.”

Harry endured the oddest measuring session ever that day, as an enchanted measuring tape wrapped around his forearm, tickled his ears, almost went up his nose, and tried to knock his glasses off his face before Ollivander snapped his fingers and it dropped to the floor.  Then came the choosing, whereupon Ollivander brought piles of boxes out of storage for Harry to try.

After six attempts, each worse than the last as wands sputtered smoke or lightning, Harry began to ask questions about the wand-choosing process and wand in general.  Apparently nobody had ever bothered to ask questions before, because Ollivander grew quite animated in his answers.  Harry learned about the different types of wood that were used in wand-making, and the many different cores that could be used.  Ollivander told Harry about how the different combinations worked together.  It was all very fascinating, and Harry learned a lot.

After ten more attempts, and almost destroying the front window, Harry remembered how it felt when he first picked up his mother’s wand: peaceful, gentle, powerful.  Harry asked the question that was in the front of his mind.

“Sir, could it be possible that a wizard has an affinity for more than one wand?”

Ollivander paused searching for boxes as he considered the question.  “I suppose, Mr. Potter, that all things are possible.  Why do you ask?”

“Well,” Harry shrugged, “it seems that I’m trying a lot of wands, and I haven’t found one yet that feels right, but what if you give me one that feels good and works well, but it’s not _perfect_ , and right after you hand me one that works just as well.  Could I take both?”

Ollivander brought two more stacks from behind the counter and leveled a serious look at Harry.  “Mr. Potter, I shall certainly never forbid you from spending money in this shop, but I maintain that there is one wand above all others for every wizard and witch in the world.”

“But, surely you don’t sell wands to every wizard and witch in every country all over the world.”

“No, I do not.  Gregorovitch is a fabulous wandmaker in Eastern Europe, and Bellovitch is popular in North America—they have a chain of three shop fronts across the continent, and Marusso is the premier wandmaker in Australia.”

Harry waved a wand, only to have thick green smoke billow from the tip before Ollivander took it from him.  “Well, sir, then how do you know that I’ll find the perfect wand for me here, if there are other wandmakers in the world?  Or how do you know that you don’t have two wands here that will be perfect—or close enough to it?”

Ollivander gave him a very flat look before opening another thin box and removing the wand to hand it to him.  “You ask very difficult questions, Mr. Potter.  They are very good questions, but they are very difficult.  Now, try this one: ten-and –one-half-inches, rosewood, with a unicorn mane hair, very rigid.”

Harry waved, and a drop of black ooze dripped from the tip.  “No, not that one.  Try this, instead.”

On and on it went, until Ollivander got a wild look in his eye and said, “I wonder…” before going farther back into his storage area than before,  returning with a very dusty box that looked rather battered and smashed.  “Try this one, it’s a very interesting combination: holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, very supple.”

Harry cautiously took the wand, and a feeling of warmth flowed up his arm, and a gentle shower of gold and red sparks flowed from the tip.  It felt good, but not…quite…right.  But Ollivander seemed pleased and disappointed at the same time.  “What?  Mr. Ollivander, what’s wrong?”

“Remember when I told you that I remember every wand I have ever sold?  Well, that wand in your hand has a twin, as it were—a wand that shares a core source: one phoenix that gave but two feathers.  And that twin wand is the wand that gave you that scar.”

Harry stared at the wand in his hand with a kind of horror.  He knew that _this_ wand never hurt him, but it had a connection to the one that did.  For one brief moment, Harry felt a sense of foreboding; just a feeling that this particular wand would be important to him one day, but this was not that day.

“Sir, I know this feels like a good match, but can I keep trying?  Maybe you have a better match for me here?”

Ollivander gave him a shrewd glance, but hurried to the back of the store to retrieve more boxes.  Contrary to the piles of discards, Harry Potter had not yet reached the limit of Ollivander’s stock.  It took eight more tries, but Harry found another wand that matched him even better than the holly wand—even better than his mother’s wand that called to him from the Potter Family Vault.  It was thirteen inches long and quite bendy, made of alder wood with a core of sea goat horn.

Ollivander’s eyebrows shot high on his forehead, as he had almost forgotten this wand was even in the shop.  The properties of alder were well known to him, of course, and it was no surprise to Ollivander that this wand chose Harry Potter: journeys, spiritual growth, self confidence, bravery—all seemed to be parts intrinsic to the boy standing in front of him.  The sea goat horn indicated that the wand would be good for transfiguration and spell-works.  This wand might not be completely perfect for the boy, but it was very close to it.  The gold-toned rainbow that flew from the tip of the wand when Harry held it for the first time proved that.

“Well, my boy, it looks as if you were right.  What shall we do, then?”

Harry shrugged.  “I’d like to buy them both, if I may.  Even if I never use the holly wand, I’d not like anyone else to have access to the ‘brother wand’ to the one that killed my parents.  I won’t let this one hurt anyone like the other wand did.”

 

When Harry left Ollivander’s shop, Hagrid was waiting outside holding a large cage containing a beautiful snowy-white owl.  Harry was in awe of the animal, and he reached out to touch the cage, slipping his fingers between the bars to caress the feathers.  The owl turned bright golden eyes to him and hooted softly.

“Hagrid, it’s beautiful!  You didn’t have to get it for me, but I’m so glad you did.”

Hagrid beamed.  “It’s a _her_ , Harry, so you’ll have to find a right fine name for her.  She’ll be a good friend for ya, I kin tell these things.”

Harry took the cage from Hagrid’s hand and spoke softly to the bird as he followed the large man through the portal to the Leaky Cauldron and back into non-magical London.  The wheels on his new trunk made travelling the streets easier, especially now that he had the owl cage to contend with, and he once again purchased passes for the underground and country train with the money Hagrid provided.  The journey back to Sussex was quiet, as Harry was exhausted from shopping and Hagrid was pre-occupied with his mission for Dumbledore.

Harry expected Hagrid to walk him to the Dursley’s front door, but the large man left him at the train station and Harry had to make his way from there on his own.  Before making that stop, however, Harry found an isolated bench and opened his trunk for parchment and pen.  He wrote a note explaining that this was his new owl, courtesy of Hagrid, and Harry did not think she would be safe at the Dursley’s house, so could the Goblins please care for her until Harry returned to claim her.

“I know you’ve only just met me, but you have to trust me on this,” he told the owl solemnly.  “The people I live with hate magic, and they would certainly hate you because you are not what they would consider ‘normal’.  They might not hurt you, but I’d rather not take the chance.  I’m sorry you don’t have a proper name just yet, but I want to give you a good one, and that means research.  By the time I see you again, I promise I’ll have a name for you.”

Harry opened the cage and the snowy owl hopped out, perching on Harry’s shoulder and nipping his ear gently, so Harry figured she understood what he was saying.  He folded the note into a tight cylinder, addressed the outside to Axesmith, and used a piece of leather strapping from a bundle of books to tie it gently but strongly to her leg.

“Go to Gringott’s girl, and let them take care of you.  Mr. Axesmith was very nice, for a goblin, and he’ll keep you safe for me.”

The owl nuzzled Harry’s cheek for a moment before flying off, leaving Harry alone to face the journey to the one place he never wanted to see again: Number Four Privet Drive.


	6. Chapter Five: What in Hades Have You All Been Doing the Past Ten Years? (part one)

** Chapter Five: What in Hades Have You All Been Doing the Past Ten Years? (part one) **

****

The woman standing in the Receiving Room in the Headquarters of The Order of Summerisle was striking.  She was tall, topping out at five-feet-eleven-inches—much taller than other women of Her Kind.  Her face was youthful with almond-shaped eyes, a rounded upturned nose, and thin lips that curved slightly at the corners as if she was thinking about smiling but hadn’t gotten there yet.  She had slight curves and was very thin with narrow hips and a slender, graceful neck and strong shoulders, and slight wrists and ankles with long, slender fingers  Her hair changed colors every hour, from ash brown to charcoal to golden blonde and back again, and her eyes glowed and sparkled like gold trapped in ice.  Today she was dressed Non-magical Casual in linen slacks and a deep teal sleeveless tunic top with flat-heeled tan leather sandals that showed long toes bedecked with golden rings and deep green polish, and her ears and neck were decorated with silver chains dripping in raw quartz crystals.  But she saw none of this as she looked into the three-foot wide, floor-length mirror.

She only saw the image of the person she was speaking to, as well as part of the room he was standing in.

_> >Flashback: **May 1422CE**_

_“Nicolas, are you certain that you want to undertake this monumental endeavor?”_

_The elderly man in the mirror smiled sadly.  “I am certain, Lady Nimue.  I have so much more to learn, and so much more to teach. Perenelle and I are not yet ready to return to Summerisle of the Deep.”_

_Kind eyes crinkled in a smile.  “Very well, then.  Go on and try to complete a Philosopher’s Stone, but remember that we need frequent reports on your progress.”_

_> >Flashback: **June 1902CE**_

_“Nicolas, really?  Dragon’s Blood?  It is really wise to study such a dangerous and corrosive material?”_

_The elderly man in the mirror laughed in amusement.  “My dear Lady Nimue, by studying and finding credible uses for Dragon’s Blood will aid in our efforts for conservation of the beautiful creatures!  If we can show that they are more than frightening eating-machines, foolish mortals won’t risk life and limb attempting to hunt them down.”_

_Bright golden eyes narrowed in concern.  “But surely if you show that the blood has practical uses then those same foolish people would only wish to hunt them more?”_

_“Not so, my dear Lady.  I plan to show uses for Freely Given blood, which should temper the urge to kill.  I hope that we can keep the dragons hidden from non-magicals in safe preserves, allowing study and conservation to increase.”_

_“Very well, Nicolas.  Please keep us informed on your research, and do give your lovely wife my regards.”_

_> >Flashback: **January 1990CE**_

_“Nicolas, really, sometimes I think we indulge you too much!”_

_The elderly man in the mirror laughed heartily.  “Lady Nimue, I do live for your indulgences!  Just think what I could accomplish here!”_

_A golden-blonde eyebrow raised in incredulity.  “What you can accomplish is a dangerous and deadly explosion if you don’t keep that ‘False Stone’ contained.  Is that what you’re after?”_

_“Not at all, Lady Nimue.  As I outlined in my proposal, I intend to use substandard ingredients and components to show that the Philosopher’s Stone can only be successfully created with extreme care and detail.  Then I shall use a combination of substandard materials and prime materials to prove the same thing.”_

_The Lady sighed.  “As long as you aren’t intending to pass alone the proper formula, Nicolas, I won’t hold sanction against you.  You are one of three Wizards who have successfully created a Philosopher’s Stone in all of History, and you will not be the last to attempt it.  If these little experiments of yours keep the slackers and fools from trying, then the Order will support you.”_

_> >Flashback: **July 17, 1991**_

_“What do you mean ‘It’s Gone’?”_

_The elderly man in the mirror cringed at the outburst.  He lifted his hands in supplication.  “My dear Lady Nimue, surely there is nothing to fear here!”_

_The Lady gaped in amazement.  “Excuse me? ‘Nothing to fear’? You purposely used substandard materials to create a false Philosopher’s Stone—with students, I might add—that is dangerous and unstable, and you LOST IT, and you think there is nothing to fear?  Nicolas Flamel, that false Stone could destroy a settlement the size of this island!”_

_The man cringed again before speaking in what he hoped was a soothing manner.  “Lady Nimue, there is no risk of explosion, believe me.  Before it was removed from my laboratory, I removed the essence of narwhal horn, which was the explosive ingredient.  I also placed a tracker on the stone in the guise of narwhal horn, so whoever took it would think it was intact.”_

_“That’s all well and good, Nicolas, but were your students aware that: one—you had already successfully created a Stone, and two—that this Stone was purposely defective?  It is possible that one of your students thinks this False Stone is the key to long life and endless fortune, and he may become dangerous himself if he finds the truth of the matter.”_

_“I prefaced the research with the admission that we may not be successful in the endeavor.  I told them that I had successfully created a Stone long, long ago, but I told them that my notes were lost in time and that I was trying to recreate them.  They totally believed me.”_

Currently: **July 30, 1991**

“Nicolas, you have news for us?”

“I do, Lady Nimue.  The tracker I placed on the False Stone was traced to a receiving account in Gringott’s Bank, London.”

The Lady took a deep, calming breath and folded her hands together in front of her body.  “Are the goblins aware of what was sent to their bank?”

The elderly man in the mirror nodded.  “Once my tracker gave me the final location, I contacted them immediately.  I spoke directly to Ragnok Sharptooth and explained the situation.  Since it was a receiving account, it is believed that someone would be sent to retrieve the item, and I shall be able to track it from there.”

The Lady nodded gravely.  “Very well.  Do we know who pays for that receiving account?”

“No, my Lady.  It’s a pre-paid account, ordered by Owl Post, and the number is Seven Hundred Thirteen, so it’s a high security account.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**July 31-August 2, 1991**

Harry thought he would have trouble getting back into the Dursley house with his new trunk and all of his school gear.  He was wrong.

The front door was unlocked, as was usual when his aunt and uncle were home and awake, so Harry didn’t have to knock on the door to get in.  His erstwhile family were all in the dining room eating dinner, so they studiously ignored Harry when he walked up the stairs to his “new” bedroom to store his belongings.  Harry didn’t even need to go back downstairs to eat because he bought himself fish and chips at the train station.

 

Harry thought it would be difficult to deal with the Dursleys while he was home, especially after all the stress of running from the magical letters and the fact that Hagrid “spelled” a pig’s tail onto Dudley.  He was wrong again.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon ignored Harry completely when he was in the same room as them.  Harry was able to use the bathroom without constraints and to fix himself meals freely, and nobody said anything to him, nasty or otherwise.  Dudley also avoided Harry, but was much more obvious about it.  Whenever Harry entered a room that Dudley occupied, the larger boy would squeal like a frightened mouse, grab his bottom, and back out of the room quickly.  It was amusing the first five times that it happened, but Harry quickly tired of it.

On the morning of Friday, August Second, Uncle Vernon left for work as usual, with a kiss on the cheek to Aunt Petunia and a pat on the shoulder to Dudley.  Aunt Petunia ushered an increasingly nervous Dudley into the kitchen for his breakfast—a special crepe dish as a reward for dealing with a pig’s tail—totally ignoring Harry, and that suited him just fine.  Harry grabbed his rolling trunk, thankful for the feather-light charm, and pulled it carefully down the stairs and out the front door, pulling is shut quietly behind him.

Privet Drive was empty as Harry exited the house, but he still walked to the empty play-park at the end of the block rather than risk anyone seeing a “magical bus” appear to pick him up.  Most of the children that regularly used this play-park would be at the local public swimming pool today, as August Second was the date of the annual “Free Swim and Carnival”—something that Harry had never been allowed to enjoy, but Dudley would attend every year.  Except this year.  For _reasons_.

Remembering Axesmith’s instructions, Harry stood his trunk on end close beside him and removed his mother’s wand from the arm holster on his left arm.  He held the wand in his right hand and raised his arm so that the wand was higher than his head.

**!BANG!**

From out of nowhere, a virulently purple triple-decker bus appeared on the street right in front of Harry.  The door folded open and a dark-skinned woman stepped out to greet him.  “Hello, welcome to the Knight Bus—Transportation for Stranded Witches and Wizards.  I’m Shelly Burghtree, the conductor.  Where can we take you?”

Harry gaped at the woman for a moment before stuttering out, “Um, I need to get to the Leaky Cauldron in London.  Can you take me there?”

The conductor smiled brightly and said, “Of course we can!  Did you want breakfast or chocolate or tea for your journey?”

Remembering Axesmith’s warning, Harry declined the offer of food and drink and was helped aboard the bus after paying two sickles and three knuts for the passage.  Harry looked around the strange bus and marveled at what he saw.  Instead of bench seats on the first level, Harry saw narrow beds attached to rails.  The windows all had curtains, presumably to aid in sleeping, and all but a few were closed.  Harry chose a bed near the rear of the bus, next to the stairs that led upward to the second and third levels.  There were other passengers on the first level, all in a mixture of day robes and nightclothes, and they all appeared to be trying to stay asleep.  Or possibly they kept their eyes closed to prevent motion-sickness.

With another loud **BANG** , the Knight Bus took off on a thrillingly paced journey down back roads and cart trails and main thoroughfares, squeezing between impossibly close buildings and rising over non-magical automobiles as if the wheels were on hydraulic lifts.  If Harry thought the cart ride in Gringott’s was thrilling, it had nothing on the Knight Bus!  With every new road there would be a loud **BANG** and the bus would shudder to a stop, and the conductor would announce the location and a witch or wizard would stumble from his or her bed (or stumble down the stairs) and trip his way to the door of the bus and out onto the road.  Then the door would close, the bus would **BANG** , and they would be off again.  During all of this, Harry found himself slipping and sliding as his bed/seat shifted with the twists and turns of the bus.  He was glad he had skipped breakfast, and even gladder that he declined food for the trip, but he was having a grand time on the journey to London.  Through his window, Harry figured he had seen much more of Great Britain than he could have on a normal road trip vacation with his aunt and uncle—not that they would have taken him on one.

After only two hours, the conductor called out “Charing Cross Road, London”, and Harry grabbed his trunk and rolled it to the front of the bus.  He smiled at Shelly Burghtree and asked, “Can I leave a tip for the driver and conductor?  I had a really great trip!”

Burghtree smiled at him and replied, “We aren’t allowed to take gratuities, but if you’d like to fill out this card for the main office, you can tell the bosses about your trip.  Just owl it to the address on the front.”  Harry took the card with another thank-you and descended the short stairs to the street.

Once on Charing Cross Road, Harry looked around at the shops until he identified a tea shop where he could get a light breakfast.  Considering his last visit to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry wanted to spend as little time in the pub as possible.  He really didn’t feel like shaking hands and being fawned over again.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**August 1, 1991—Seven o’clock a.m.—Gringott’s Bank**

 

Ragnok Sharptooth sat comfortably behind his desk and regarded the three Magicals seated in the guest chairs in front of him.  All were members of The Order of Summerisle: two were Special Investigators for the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards and one was a member of a Most Honorable Nobel and Ancient House, two were men and one was a woman, two appeared under the age of forty years and one looked as if he were approaching the middle of his sixth decade of life (of course, in Magicals, appearances were often quite deceiving), all were well-dressed—two casually-so and one was wearing not-quite-formal robes.

Madame Mageara Stilton was an unobtrusive woman.  She was just under average height (5’4”) and full-figured with brilliant red-gold hair that was prematurely streaked with white and glittering blue-black eyes that were disguised by pearlescent round-rimmed glasses that perched on a hooked Roman nose.  Her dainty hands were folded gracefully in her lap and several jeweled rings glittered on her fingers.  She was dressed in a non-magical business-casual outfit of long, pleated skirt in a floral pattern, a white silk sleeveless top and a black linen blazer, and black leather low-heeled pumps.

To her left was her investigating partner, Gabriel Manzini, who was her opposite in every way.  Manzini stood at an imposing six-feet and eleven and one-half inches tall, and was broad-shouldered and barrel-chested.  Under his impressive robes, which were of the highest-quality light-weight wool and linen, he wore a dark blue silk button-down dress shirt and black linen slacks with a dragon-hide belt, and dragon-hide boots.  There were three crests on his outer robes: the sigil for the ICWW (a globe crossed with two wands), the sigil for the Order of Summerisle (a sparking wand crossed over a crystal cluster), and a badge showing two crossed wands over an open book—an arcane symbol for Magical Investigations, something the average and above-average wizard would not recognize.  His raven-black hair was styled neatly and cut short against popular style and his pale glass-green eyes glittered with shrewd intelligence, something that was easily over-looked by witches who only saw his classic beauty.  (Ragnok had been present when Lady Nimue once compared Manzini to a non-magical actor named Cary Grant, so he looked for images of that man and quite concurred.)

To Madame Stilton’s right sat slightly portly Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington, looking like a concerned grandfather.  His quite considerable hair waved softly over his forehead and was quite white with only a few streaks of dark brown.  He had clear brown eyes and a bulbous nose that had more to do with genetics than heavy drink and a strong chin and squared jaw with full cheeks.  He wore an open-necked polo-type shirt in dark blue with a green stripe and dark blue trousers under his open-front silk day robes and his feet were clad in tasseled black loafers.

To look at them, one would never know that the trio was part of the most powerful Magical Society in the world—or that two of them were lethally dangerous investigators/hit-wizards that were leading an investigation into the British Wizarding Government for corruption and Magical Malfeasance.  But Ragnok knew, and Ragnok trusted them to take the information he gave them and put it to the best possible use.

 

“I have been compiling information regarding abuse of a Magically Gifted child,” said Ragnok with sincere gravity, “and what I have found is nothing short of gross negligence and abuse of power.”

“And the child in question is Harry Potter?  The ‘Prophesy Child’?”  Madame Stilton demurely crossed her legs and fluffed her skirt about her ankles.  “What type of abuse are you talking about?”

Ragnok wrinkled his nose at the notion of a prophesy in regards to the gentle and polite child that he encountered the day before.  “There is a large amount of money missing from his accounts.  A very large amount.  I have been able to successfully trace every transaction and withdrawal for those accounts, so I do know where the money went, for what purpose, and by whom it was taken.  In the course of _my_ investigation, I have uncovered corrupt account managers—who have been summarily executed by right of Goblin Rule—and the misuse of Wizarding Governmental Powers.”

Manzini, eyes blazing, sat forward in his chair in rapt attention.  “Please tell me the Minister of Magic has been misbehaving?”

Ragnok smirking in an ugly, self-confident way.  “It appears that Minister Cornelius Fudge is as incompetent as former-Minister Bagnold was corrupt.  While reviewing the files on young Mr. Potter, I discovered that the Last Wills of his parents were never executed.  James Charlus Potter was the last son of a Most Honorable Nobel and Ancient House, and as such he filed his will not only with the Ministry Office of Legal Affairs but also with Gringott’s Bank.  When the wills in the Ministry were not executed, the copies at Gringott’s moved to the Questionable Documents Department.  Cliffclimber Eagle-eye attempted several times to alert the Ministry liaison to Gringott’s to the discrepancy, but he was ignored—as usual.

“When I reviewed the will, prior to meeting Mr. Potter, I learned that his custody should have been awarded to any number of Magical Persons, the most important of which was his Magical Godfather, Sirius Orion Black.”  Ragnok addressed Manzini directly when he said, “Sirius Black, as you know, was imprisoned in Azakaban ten years ago for the magical murders of thirteen non-magical civilians as well as the betrayal of the Potters which led to their deaths at the hand of the Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Manzini nodded grimly.  “Yes, I remember that case.  It was a disgrace of a Noble and Ancient House that most all members had gone Dark.  From all accounts, Sirius Black was the most like old Arcturus and the most likely to be purely Light in nature.”

“Yes,” hissed Ragnok, “about that.  You see, when Mr. Potter came to us yesterday, we naturally assumed that he was here to claim his Legacy with the Heir Rings for the Houses of Potter and Black, which he had been listed as the legal and Magical heir of just after his birth.  So you can imagine my dismay and surprise when I opened the Legacy Box to retrieve the Black Heir Ring and it was not there.”

“Could someone have taken the ring?” asked Madame Stilton.

“Impossible!” declared Ragnok.  “If a member of an Ancient and Nobel House—particularly the heir of said family—is found guilty of a heinous crime, and if Magic itself finds that person guilty and dishonorable—any entailed property would be magically transferred back to the account of that family, and the Heir Ring would be magically placed back in the Legacy Box.  If the ring is not there, then it is still on the finger of the last person to wear it.”

Manzini frowned.  “So that would mean that the last person to wear it was not found Magically guilty and dishonorable.”  Manzini stood and crossed to the office door.  “It appears that I need to make a spot-check on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Magical Justice.  After all, what is a witch-hunt if there are no witches involved?”

After Gabriel Manzini left the office in a wild swirl of robes, Madame Mageara Stilton directed her attention back to Ragnok.  “You said there was theft from Mr. Potter.  Was there anything else that you found?”

“Yes,” growled Ragnok.  “I found that young Harry James Potter was completely ignorant of the Magical World and his place in it.  I found that he was neglected, if not outright abused, by his mother’s sister—someone who was not on the list of approved prospective guardians for the boy.  I found that Harry Potter is an intelligent young man who had no idea that he came from a wealthy family or that he would be magically gifted.  I found that he was horrified at the thought of attending a school filled with children that had been learning about him since he was orphaned because the person he really was is not who they had been reading about.  While Mr. Potter seemed quite thrilled with the idea of magic, he also struck me as someone who would gladly leave the Wizarding World behind if it meant that he could live peacefully away from his aunt and uncle.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**August 1, 1991—9:30am—Ministry of Magic**

Gabriel Manzini left the Floo in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic with as little flair as he could manage.  Drawing attention to himself before he found his target was not in his plan.  A security guard tried to detain him, asking for a wand for registry, but an ice-cold glare from Manzini forced the guard to withdraw back to his desk.  Manzini merely rolled his eyes and headed for the elevator to Level Five: Administration.  It was an express elevator that was reserved for Department Heads and Administrative Personnel, so the line was non-existent.  Nobody tried to detain him or interfere with his progress.  Even when everyone around him was armed with a wand and the presumed skill to use it, Gabriel Manzini was considered to be imposing and dangerous.

They were all correct with that assessment.

Once he reached the fifth level of the Ministry, Manzini found the directory and headed for the Office of one Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.  She might not have the records he was looking for, but she was known as an honorable woman and a proper bug in her ear would set her on her own investigation, which would work well for Manzini.  He always liked to work _with_ local law enforcement when possible rather than _against_ them.  Work smarter, not harder; that was his motto.

A young man at the reception desk in front of the office stood to stop his progress, but Manzini flashed his official ICWW Investigator’s Badge (very shiny and impressive, even if most people didn’t know what it meant) and passed him by.  Manzini knocked once, hard and perfunctory, on the oak door before opening it and strolling through it to the inner office.  Madam Bones was sitting behind her desk, and he rather caught her sipping tea while looking through a case file.  She was a rather severe appearing woman with very short graying hair and a monocle perched over one eye.  It dropped dramatically when her eyes widened at his arrival.

Amelia Bones set her china teacup back in the saucer with a clatter and she stood in incredulous outrage.  “Who in Merlin’s name are you and what are you doing in my office?”

Manzini smirked at the woman.  “It’s funny that you should phrase it that way, Madam Bones.  I’m Gabriel Manzini, Special Investigator with the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards, and I need all of the transcripts from the trial of Sirius Orion Black.”

Bones’ mouth dropped open for a moment before she closed it with an audible snap.  “I don’t…excuse me?  Why do you need those files?”

Manzini lifted one eyebrow haughtily.  “It does not matter _why_ I need those files, Madam Bones, only _that_ I need them.  However I will tell you this much:  There is an investigation into power plays and possible corruption in this Ministry and I think those files will be most informative.”

Bones frowned and she began scribbling a note on a piece of purple paper.  “I must say that I’m really surprised at this, Investigator Manzini.  Albus Dumbledore was at the Ministry just last week and he never once indicated anything about an investigation.  He just told me how much he was looking forward to seeing my niece in Hogwarts this year.”

Manzini’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Why would the Headmaster of a school know anything about an ICWW investigation?”

Bones folded the paper into an airplane and tossed through the fireplace before returning her attention to Manzini.  “I assume that, as Supreme Mugwhump of the ICWW, he is your superior and would know all about any investigations.”

It was through extreme effort that Gabriel Manzini refrained from laughing out-loud.  Instead, he took a seat in the uncomfortable wooden chair in front of Bones’ desk and crossed his left leg over his right knee.  “Why don’t you tell me about that, Madam Bones.  No! Wait.  Rather, why don’t you tell me what you know about that.”

Bones dropped back into her chair and she lifted her wand to use a warming charm on her teacup.  “About what?  The Supreme Mugwhump title?”  When Manzini nodded, she took a sip of the warmed tea and grimaced before setting the cup back onto the saucer.  “Well, it’s pretty common knowledge here in Britain, but Albus Dumbledore vanquished the Dark Lord Grindelwald in 1945, and it was a great feat for the side of Light.  Shortly afterward, Dumbledore was named Supreme Mugwhump of the ICWW, while he was still the Transfiguration Professor at Hogwarts.  He became Headmaster of Hogwarts in 1957 and took the post of Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot in 1979.  Surely you know all of this?”

Manzini quirked his lips in a half-smile before replying.  “You do have most of the facts correct, Madam Bones, but you are missing many details.  Let me ask you two questions, if you please, that you may answer to your best ability.  Firstly, what, exactly, is a ‘Supreme Mugwhump’?  You may answer now, if you can.”

Bones furrowed her brow as she thought how to answer the question.  “Well, given the formality of the title, I suppose ‘Supreme Mugwhump’ means Dumbledore is effectively in charge of the ICWW.  Is that not right?”

Manzini leaned forward a bit.  “Well, that leads to my second question, which is: Why would the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards have a school headmaster as its leader?”  Bones frowned, so Manzini continued.  “In fact, Madam Bones, ‘Supreme Mugwhump’ in an honorary title used for special conferences.  Albus Dumbledore became Supreme Mugwhump of the ICWW in 1945 when he was asked to be a keynote speaker at an ICWW Conference on fighting Dark Wizards and Witches.  His defeat of Grindelwald drew our attention, you see, so he was asked to speak to the entire ICWW council.  There were other Mugwhumps speaking at that conference, from Venezuela, Peru, and New Zealand, but because Grindelwald was an international threat, Dumbledore’s defeat of him was deemed more interesting.  That’s all there is to it.  The _Director_ of the ICWW is a man from Brazil named Bruno Salvatore, and he has been in charge since 1939 and is set to retire next year.  The incoming Director is a very talented witch from Japan by the name of Yuriko Fuyama.  You might recognize the name as she is currently the Japanese Minister of Magic.”

Bones was about to reply, but was interrupted by the arrival of another purple paper airplane shooting through the fireplace and onto her desk.  Bones unfolded it and frowned.  Manzini stood and moved to the side of the desk so that he could read it over her shoulder.  “Is that the transcript that I asked for?”

“No, it’s not," she said stiffly.

“Is that note about where I can find the transcript that I asked for?”

Bones looked up at him.  “No, it’s not.  There is no file because it seems there is no transcript.  Because,” she took a deep breath, “there was no trial.  Sirius Black was sentenced to Azkaban without a trial.”

She looked so devastated that Manzini was almost tempted to take it easy on her.

Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this bit to fix the apparent ages of the Order Members, as I will soon reveal them to be much older than they look.


	7. Chapter Five, Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on in I'll be messing with ages and tampering with canonical timelines. Most of what I had to work with came from Harry Potter WIKI, as I didn't want to mess with Pottermore. Not that it matters, because the information that I needed to mess with is inconsequential at most. I'm aging the Potters and Sirius Black (And Remus, I guess, if he ends up here) because it does not suit my story that James and Lily married right out of school and had Harry immediately after that. I'll also be messing with the ages of the Weasley children, because of reasons.  
> This is part two of my official fifth chapter. There will be a part three, because this is going to be a long one. There may be a part four, but I'm not going to commit to that yet.  
> p.s.--On June 2, I added a blurb at the end of this section so that it flows better into the next part.

** Chapter Five: What in Hades Have You All Been Doing the Past Ten Years? (part two) **

****

**August 1, 1991—8:30am—Gringott’s Bank**

It took a lot to outrage Lord Adelbert “Bertie” Whitby Porpington.  Outrage was the trademark of his colleague, Gabriel Manzini.  Outrage was the privilege of Lady Nimue since “Times of Olde”.  Outrage was unheard of in Madame Mageara Stilton’s vocabulary.   And yet….

“Do you mean to tell us,” growled (growled!) Lord Porpington, “that someone has taken not only monetary property from this child, but also his Magical Heritage?”

Ragnok Sharptooth grinned a fierce, war-like grin.  “I see that you now understand the Goblins’ concern.  Have no fear, Lord Porpington, we at Gringott’s are not completely incompetent.  While theft has occurred from the minor Trust Vault, the perpetrator had no access to the Family Vaults, the Heritage Vaults, or the Legacy Vaults.  In the end, while this thief thought he has gained much, not even a fraction of the wealth was touched, and none of the physical property, real estate, or Magical Legacy Journals were even noticed much less plundered.

“Since it became obvious that the Wills of James and Lily Potter were not executed within the Ministry, the Board of Clan Leaders decided to execute the Wills within Gringott’s as per our agreement with Wilde Magic.  I have before me a total accounting of the missing monies, as well as a listing of the final deposits of said monies.  Gringott’s has protected the rest of the Potter Magical Legacy for the Heir of the Potter Line.”

Lord Porpington sat back in relief. “Well, then, that’s fine.  So what are the real concerns here, and how can the Order help you?”

Ragnok templed his hands on top of his desk and tilted his head toward the files in front of him.  “Do you understand the Magical Power needed to Confund and Control a Goblin?  It takes considerable power, Lord Porpington, and not one or two of my staff were Confunded, but one quarter of a Minor Clan was Confunded and forced to allow even a small account to be plundered against the Heir of an Honorable and Ancient Family.  These goblins were recovered and they gratefully offered their heads in reparation for their dereliction of duty.  It was necessary, but I still hated to lose them.  They were related to a cousin of my wife.

“According to our records review, several properties were purchased with those ill-gotten funds: Shell Cottage in Swansea, Wales, Winslaw Cottage in Oughtershaw, and Number 10 Magnolia Court, Little Whinging, Surrey.  A one-time withdrawal in the amount of 16592 Galleons, 4 Sickles, and 28 Knuts was taken from the Trust Vault on November 2, 1981 at ten o’clock in the morning London time.  At that time also, a monthly transfer was set up in the amount of 331 Galleons, 14 Sickles, and 11 Knuts—and that was to be sent to the non-magical account of Mr. Vernon Dursley of Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey via Barclays Bank West.  This transfer was set to occur on the third day of each month, and has done so each month for the past ten years.”

Lord Porpington frowned deeply.  “Those are very specific and not inconsequential amounts, Ragnok.  In non-magical denominations, the first withdrawal was exactly £50,000, which is a huge amount of money for any population.  The monthly transfers equal £1000, which means £116,000 to date, not counting the transfer that is scheduled to take place in two days.  Just who is this Vernon Dursley?”

“Vernon Dursley,” snarled Ragnok, “is the man married to Harry Potter’s maternal aunt, and in whose ‘care’ young Mr. Potter has been living under since the deaths of his parents.  This is not in accordance with the final Wills of either James or Lily Potter.  In fact, several people were listed as possible caretakers for the boy, but the Dursleys were not on that list.  In fact, Lady Lily Potter’s will was most emphatic that her sister, Petunia, be kept as far away from her son as possible.  There was a notation stating that Petunia Evans Dursley had a deep-seated hatred of magic and would not see caring for a magical child as an honor.  That personal note was dated September 12, 1981, just before the Potters went into hiding.”

“Let me make certain that I understand,” said Madame Stilton carefully, “Just before the Potters went into hiding because of that stupid prophesy, they made time to bring their legal Wills to the Bank so they would be ratified and properly executed in case the Ministry failed to do so.  And an unknown Magical took advantage of their deaths to steal from their heir and only son, and he or she abused several goblins to do so?  Please tell me, Ragnok, that you know who did this horrible thing!”

Ragnok looked affronted.  “Of course I know who did this!  I’ve only been waiting for the Order to send investigators so that I can find out how badly young Mr. Potter has been treated.  The boy is unusually polite and respectful; far more so than other children that are brought in to do business in the bank.  I find him to be refreshing.”

 

**August 1, 1991—10:00am—Ministry of Magic**

“Do please tell me, Madam Bones, how it is that the Heir of an Ancient and Noble House was imprisoned _without a TRIAL_ , when he was very publicly arrested by Magical Law Enforcement officers?”

Gabriel Manzini was furious, that much was very obvious.  He all but had a lightning-studded black cloud floating closely over his head, though he was endeavoring to keep his temper in check.  Losing it totally in the office of the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would serve no one.

He still had Amelia Bones flustered anyway.

“I, uh, I honestly don’t know, Inspector Manzini!” she stuttered.  “There were many arrests happening that day, due to riots after the defeat of the Dark Lord.  I was not personally in attendance when Sirius Black was arrested because I was arresting the LeStranges at the time.”

Manzini scowled.  “Who was it that arrested him, then?  I want names, Madam Bones!  I want all of the names!”

For her part, Amelia Bones moved very quickly when she was motivated.  She wasn’t certain why this man un-nerved her so, but she did not want to be on his bad side.  She moved quickly to the large magical file cabinet beside her desk and she sorted swiftly through several drawers until she found the file she was looking for.  Bringing it back to her desk, she opened it and sorted through the papers.

“Ah!” she exclaimed, “it says here that Rufus Scrimgeour was the arresting Officer, but he was witnessed by then-Minister Millicent Bagnold and…Cornelius Fudge?  What was he doing there?  Oh, yes, he was Junior Minister of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, so the explosion would fall into his purview.”

“I see,” sneered Manzini.  “The Minister for Magic was responsible for sending Black to Azkaban without a trial?”

Bones shuffled a few more papers from that file before answering.  “No, she was not the one who did the sentencing in those cases.  The trial was to be conducted by Bartemius Crouch Sr.—in full Wizengamot Court in front of Albus Dumbledore.  All of the Death-eater trials were conducted in Courtroom Ten with Crouch presiding.  At least until….”

“Until what, Madam Bones?”

“Well, when I arrested the LeStranges, they had been torturing Frank and Alice Longbottom, and they were in the company of Bartemius Crouch Jr.  It was a huge scandal ten years ago, and Crouch Sr. resigned from the prosecutor’s position and went to work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation.  Minister Bagnold retired due to her health last year, of course, and Fudge was voted in even though everyone in Britain thought Albus Dumbledore would want the position.”

Manzini stood away from the desk and began to pace slowly like a tiger in a cage.  “That is all well and good, Madam Bones, but where was Black _sent_ when he was sentenced sans trial?”

Bones flushed brightly in shame.  “This document says he was sent to high security in Azkaban, on the tenth level—with the other most dangerous criminals.  He is under full-guard by Dementors only; no human guards go there because of the status of the criminals.”

Madam Amelia Bones had seen numerous angry people during her tenure with the DMLE, but none had been as angry as the wizard that just stormed out of her office, slamming the door hard enough to crack the wooden door jamb.

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

Gabriel Manzini left the Ministry Building in a flurry of flying robes, garnering much attention.  Once out of sight of the Magical Building (or, rather, the phonebox entrance to such), he pulled a magically shielded non-magical cell-phone from a pocket hidden in the lining of his robes.  When time was of the essence, he often stated, non-magical communications were the best-used methods.  He hit the speed-dial designation for Order Headquarters and asked for the Transfer Corps.

“I need back-up here in London,” he said sharply.  “At the most, there will be three arrests right now, and two of those are currently employed by the Ministry, although I’m not certain if they are in their offices at the moment.  They’ll be easy enough to find, though. They’re supposed to be Very Important Wizards, so to speak.”

Once he gave the order to find and arrest former Minister Millicent Bagnold, Bartemius Crouch Sr., and Rufus Scrimgeour, Manzini disconnected the call and pocketed the phone again before apparating to the edge of the wards for Azkaban Prison.

 

**August 1, 1991—12:45pm—Gringott’s Bank**

With permission from the Order of Summerisle, the highest governing body of Magical Society, a full audit of the Potter Vaults and Accounts was underway.  The goblins were sure to keep the sanctity of the Vaults intact, and no one was permitted to enter the Legacy or Heritage Vaults because they were sacred to the Potter Family (and the Stinchcombe and Peverelle families before that), but the Trust Vault and all investment accounts were thoroughly searched and copious notes were taken.

There were many questionable transactions beyond the outright thefts.  Someone had tried to have the main Potter estate, Potter Fields, sold and the house-elves disbanded—quite unsuccessfully.  The house-elves had sealed the estate under War Wards and barred any entry until the Potter Heir could find his way home.  The same was the case for Potter Manor in Killingworth and Potter Keep in Newton-By-The-Sea.  The chief house-elf for each home had reported to Gringott’s that all was well and all fifteen elves were hale and healthy and waiting for their master to return to them.  The Family Magic, disrupted by death, was still strong enough to support each elf and keep them sane and happy, even though they sorely missed their Master and Mistress.  (And, no, the elves did not know who was responsible for the attempted sales.)

A magical guardianship was attempted in order to control young Harry Potter, but was ultimately foiled by the Potter Account Manager, despite the fact that said Account Manager was indeed bespelled to give over control of one of the accounts for a short time.  There were indications that other withdrawals were attempted before Harry was brought to the Bank on July 31, but they failed and Ragnok believed that the False Guardian was going to use Harry’s annual trips for school supplies to draw more money for his own personal use.

The most disturbing thing that Lord Porpington found during the audit was a marriage contract between Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley, to be formalized into betrothal at Harry’s fifteenth birthday and finalized in a wedding at Ginevra’s eighteenth birthday.  Since Harry Potter knew nothing of the Magical World before his eleventh birthday, and this contract was written when Harry was six years old, it was certain that Harry knew nothing about the contract or the Weasley family at all.

“About this Magical Guardianship,” said Porpington hesitantly, “you do know who attempted it?”

“Ye-essss,” hissed Ragnok as he flicked through the documents on his desk.  “It is the same wizard that stole from the Potter Trust Vault and arranged Mr. Potter’s housing situation: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot.  I am prepared to begin reparations to the Potter Trust Vault by penalizing Dumbledore’s personal vaults until the entire 16592 Galleons, 4 Sickles, and 28 Knuts is returned.  I am unsure what to do about the monthly transfers to the Dursley account as they are undoubtedly intended for the care and feeding of Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, that does pose a problem.  I suppose we’ll have to confer with young Mr. Potter on that matter.  Now, what should be done about the guardianship?  He certainly needs someone to look after his best interests, especially since his godfather was imprisoned.”

Ragnok gifted Porpington with a shrewd gaze.  “I had hoped, Lord Porpington, that _you_ would offer to act as Magical Guardian for Mr. Potter.  As a highly respected member of the Wizengamot, leader of a Noble House, and high-ranking member of the Order of Summerisle, you will be uniquely qualified to keep Mr. Potter’s best interest in mind, and there is no way for you to benefit from guiding him through the Magical World.”

“Hmmm, I supposed that is correct,” murmured Porpington.  “The Legacy of the Ancient and Noble House of Porpington is secured through my own Heir, my grandson Malcolm, and he is married now so the line is also secured.  I most certainly do not need the income involved with a Magical Guardianship of a Noble minor child, so the Potter fortune would be safe from exploitation.”  Madame Stilton patted him gently on the arm, so he nodded.  “Very well, if Mr. Potter agrees, and Sirius Black is indeed innocent of all charges but incapacitated for any reason, then I shall offer to be Magical Guardian for Harry James Potter.  Now that that is settled, have we found the worst of the infringement on the Potter Vaults?”

 

**August 1, 1991—11:15am—The North Sea**

Gabriel Manzini stood on the ferry dock of the island prison of Azkaban.  It was a gloomy and dismal place built on solid, sharp granite and carved from iron ore.  The face of the main building was plain and sheer, with only small slivers of windows spaced at regular intervals, and Manzini counted seven visible levels—although he knew the worst offenders were in cells located three levels below the surface, on the opposite side of the island, where a steep and sharp cliff-face discouraged escape attempts.

Of course the gloomy atmosphere and sheer drop-off were not the only things that discouraged escape attempts.  The unofficial “guards” for the prison were indeed dreadful and formidable: Dementors by name and demented by nature, the creatures were created in 1692CE by an accidental explosion in a careless alchemist’s laboratory during a soul-rendering ritual.  The first Dementors killed every person in the ritual circle and began to multiply at an alarming rate.  They had the un-natural ability to drain positive feelings from their victims, leaving them bereft and suicidal.  For some reason that defied all reason, the Minister for Magic at that time decided to corral and confine the despicable creatures on this rocky island—and he used them to guard prisoners!

Manzini could think of no worse punishment for any crime, even murder.  Far better to be executed than to live in such an environment.  Even with shorter sentences, continued exposure to Dementors would cause extreme mental breaks, resulting in catatonia or irrecoverable comas.  A person imprisoned for even a minor thing such as misdemeanor larceny could be driven completely mad from the exposure.  The Order was willing to eliminate the Dementors permanently, but they had allowed themselves to be convinced that there was an actual need for the spectral guards as long as they were confined to the island.  As he stood on the ferry dock used to bring prisoners to this forsaken place (but to never take them home), Manzini could see the folly of that decision.

As he stalked toward the massive entrance to Azkaban Prison, several wizard guards rushed out to stop him, but Manzini cast a simple _Incarcerous_ jinx and left them in the doorway to the guard shack.  Manzini knew that convicted Death-eaters were housed in the very lowest level of the prison, and other murderers were just above them, so he headed deep into the stone structure with a strong _Vis Ager_ shield around him to protect him from Dementor attack.  The Dementors were scarce, however, until he reached the fifth level of the prison, where he could feel the un-natural chill in the air and could hear the mournful moans of prisoners behind heavy iron doors.

Casting a Point Me on his wand, Manzini traversed labyrinthine passages deeper into the structure until he reached a solitary cell built into the edge of the cliff face.  The iron door had a covered porthole near the center of the door as well as a narrow rectangular slot where he supposed food was delivered.  Disgusted, Manzini opened the porthole covering and peered inside the cell, seeing a ragged pile of dirty blankets in a corner of the cell rather than a bed or cot, and a rusty bucket of dirty water, but no food—and not even a chamber pot if the mess in a far corner was to be believed.  The only occupant of the cell was not even a man, but a large, shaggy, black dog.

Manzini snorted in mild amusement before blasting a hole in the lock and opening the door to the cell.  “If you’re still sane enough to transform back to human, Black, then please refrain from doing so until I can get you back to Greece.  I’d rather not have to stun you, but I am willing to do so if I need to.”

The black dog stood and shook itself, and loose hair filled the cell in a cloud of dirt and decay.  Clearly ten years in this horrid place had not done well for the prisoner.  Still, the dog moved cautiously with a silent step, and soon joined Manzini in the hallway.  “I’ll just lead the way, shall I, and you can save any questions for when we are in a cleaner place.”

The man and dog traversed quickly through the passages and stairwells, and they were almost at the egress when a small swarm of ten Dementors converged on their location, trying to prevent them from leaving.  Manzini thrust the dog behind him and raised his wand toward the floating menace and yelled “ _Solis_!”  A bright yellow-orange light exploded from the tip of his wand and the Dementors _screamed_ in fury, then in panic…and then they all imploded with a small displacement of air, as if their mass was reclaimed by the universe that created them.  No other Dementors came to harass the fleeing wizard and so Manzini escorted the black dog to the dock beside the guard shack.  The stunned guards were just now recovering, so Manzini cast a quick enervate on them and released their bonds, extolling then to contact the DMLE about the loss of Dementors at Azkaban.  “And do tell Madam Bones that _all_ of the Dementors will be destroyed within six months, so she might want to consider hiring permanent human guards for this abominable place.”

Then Manzini grabbed the black dog by the ruff of his neck and apparated them both away from the chilly island.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Gabriel Manzini looked dispassionately at the bedraggled man in front of him.  Upon apparating into a receiving chamber in Order Headquarters, Sirius Orion Black transformed from large black dog into a sorry excuse for a man.  His hair was lank and stringy and dull, prematurely streaked with grey and falling out in clumps.  He was emaciated and skeletal, with dull skin covered in sores from malnutrition.  His clothing was nothing more than rags and his bare feet and hands were scabbed and torn; not quite frost-bitten but raw from exposure.  And he was so weak as to be unable to stand on his own two feet, so it was understandable that the four-legged form was preferable.

Immediately after transforming back to his human form, Black passed out from the exertion of travel, so Manzini called a trio of house-elves to carry Black to a comfortable guest room where they would strip and bathe the unconscious man and put him to bed.  Once the elves were gone with their charge, Manzini stalked off to report to Lady Nimue and Lord Cadmus.  Cadmus certainly would have felt the magical backlash of the destruction of the Dementors as he of all the Wilde Magicals was most closely connected to the Wilde Creations.  Not that he condoned the creation and perpetuity of the Dementors.  In fact, it was Lord Cadmus that demanded the destruction of the Dementors after they destroyed a small magical enclave outside North Berwick (which is what led them to being confined to that abysmal place in the North Sea), so Manzini was certain Lord Cadmus would want a detailed accounting of what occurred inside the prison.

“There was quite a shift in the energy plane, Gabriel,” said Cadmus in greeting when Manzini entered the executive office lounge.  “Would you care to explain what you were up to when we only sent you to assist the London goblins?”

Manzini rolled his eyes and poured himself a mug of strong tea before seating himself in a sunlit armchair.  “We were asked to assist in an investigation of theft, and instead we found total corruption of a sort I’d really rather not deal with.  The short of it is: I found that the Heir and possible Head of an Ancient and Noble House was falsely accused of murder and tossed into Azkaban without a trial, and he was supposed to be the guardian and care-taker of the Prophesy Child, so I went to get him.  Some of the Dementors took offense at that, so I had to dispatch them with extreme prejudice.”

Manzini sipped his tea in the ensuing silence before looking up to see approval on the faces of his superiors.  He set the mug down on an end table and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees and folding his hands together.  “His name is Sirius Black and he’s apparently an animagus, which might have been the only thing keeping him sane in that place for the last ten years.  And he’s in a very bad way.  I left him with Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail—and I can’t _believe_ you allowed them to choose those names for themselves!—and I recommend that you call for a healer sooner rather than later.  He passed out once I got him here, but he’ll be really shaken once he wakes.  I’ve never seen….”  Manzini thrust both hands into his hair and groaned.  He slumped back into his chair.  “We need to clean that place out—rehabilitate those that can be and execute those that can’t—and we need to raze it totally.  It’s horrible!  It feels horrible and smells horrible and the feel of it settles in the back of your throat and fills you up…and I really need a shower now, so can we debrief later?”

Without waiting for an answer, Manzini stood and stalked from the room, finding his own modest quarters and his shower and all the hot water he could stand.

 

Cadmus shot Nimue a sardonic look.  “I’d say he needs a vacation, wouldn’t you?  The man is too high-strung!”

Nimue snorted daintily.  “Gabriel is the best at what he does.  I plan to enjoy his efforts for as long as I can, because I sense that we’ll be losing him soon.  This case….”

Cadmus nodded.  “That prophesy has us all on edge, my Lady.  To know we’re so close to it, it drives us to work so much harder.  Should I replace Gabriel on this case?  There are other investigators available.”

Nimue shook her head.  “No, let him finish what he’s started.  You’ll have to step in soon enough, I think.”

Cadmus nodded and stood.  “Very well.  I’ll go find Asclepius; he’s the best healer there is, so we’ll have him examine Lord Black.”

 

 

 

**August 1, 1991—4:30pm(2:30pm Great Britain)—Time Compression Chamber—Headquarters, Order of Summerisle—Summerisle of the Deep**

Sirius Black felt like Hell on a biscuit, but at least he was clean and warm.

He vaguely remembered passing out after the worst apparition of his life, and then…nothing, until he woke in a soft bed, cushioned on a feather pillow and scrubbed within an inch of his life.  His skin still tingled, but he had no idea how long he’d been out or what time it was.

He didn’t even know _where_ he was.  He remembered the handsome stranger mentioning Greece, but that didn’t answer any questions for him, not that he’d asked any, being a dog at the time.

Sirius’ animagus form of a Newfoundland Hound was his only form of protection while in Azkaban.  The animal mind was safe from Dementors, so they avoided his cell block because he was the only prisoner there after Barty Crouch Jr. died.  Of course, the safety came at a price, because while he was in dog-form for so long, he stopped being able to think rationally.  He lost time while in Azkaban, and he did not know how long he’d been in there.  Day in and day out, his only thoughts were about the best friends that were killed, for betrayer, and the godson he would never know.  They were the only simple thoughts the dog-mind could process, and since they were not happy thoughts, they did not attract the Dementors.  Food was magically placed in his cell twice each day, and water once each day, but after several months he stopped counting deliveries.  The human guards only came into his cell block once per quarter year, and there was an annual inspection by the Minister of Magic, so those became the only times that he transformed back to his human form.

Sirius slowly opened his eyes, wary of bright lights after spending so much time in a dank dungeon, but he found himself in a dimly lit, plainly decorated room.  The walls were empty of paintings or photographs, but there were nice curtains over the darkened windows.  He struggled into a seated position and noted the bed was at least a queen-size, but he slept curled tightly only on one side, taking as little room as possible.  The bed, side table and wardrobe were all dark wood and tastefully designed with clean lines and delicate engraving.  There was a dark red rug on the tiled floor and a candelabra hanging from the ceiling.  The air had a hazy, shimmery tinge to it, but it was fresh and clean and warm.  Sirius realized he could hear the sound of the ocean coming from the window, and he never thought it would be a welcome sound, but it was.  Azkaban was situated in the middle of the North Sea, so the water could have been a trigger to bad thoughts, but in his cell he could not hear the sea because of a dampening field to prevent escape through the tiny window.

Sirius struggled mildly to get out of the bed, surprised that he could walk on two legs without much trouble.  He was surprised to find he was dressed in soft, high-quality cotton pajamas in a pattern of white on off-white chevrons.  Looking around the bed, he found no slippers, but the tiles were cool to the touch—but not icy cold—and the woven woolen rug was warm and cushioned, so Sirius shrugged and walked to the double windows and parted the curtains.

And saw a shimmery red-yellow-green haze where there should have been an ocean view.  He could hear the sea, and the gulls that followed fishing boats, and even murmured and indistinct voices, but he could see nothing.  Behind him, he heard the door open, so he turned carefully, well aware that he had no wand for self-defense.

“Oh, good, you’re awake!”  The man that entered the room was old and stooped and bald, and he was wearing baggy green pants with a draw-string waist and a brightly printed tunic shirt under an open-front white robe and some sort of soft clog-type shoes that had open backs, and he walked with a funny cane that looked like a shepherd’s crook with a snake wrapped around the neck.  “I’m your physician.  You can call me ‘Doc’, or ‘Healer’, but most people around here call me ‘Al’.”

Sirius gaped at the elderly man for a moment before he tried using his creaky vocal cords.  “And where, exactly, is ‘ _here_ ’?”

The healer, Al, smiled a huge, toothy grin.  “Well, here is a Magical Enclave off the coast of Agios Gordios.  It used to be Atlantis, my dear boy, but now it is called….”

“Summerisle of the Deep,” Sirius continued.  “I remember reading something about that in my grandfather’s library.  It’s real, then?”

“Oh, yes, it’s very real,” laughed Al.  “And we are indeed the true protectors of true and Wilde Magic.  And you have been through quite the ordeal, Sirius Black.  We’ve allowed you to sleep for a while, as rest is the best healer for a tired and abused body, but now I must perform some very invasive scans.  Would you prefer to sit by the window or would you rather lie back on the bed?”

Sirius tilted his head sideways and said, “I’ll take the chair, thanks.  And why can’t I see out the window?  How long have I been asleep?”

Al lifted his walking stick and wielded it like a magical staff, directing silent spells all over and around Sirius.  “You arrived here on August First.  You have slept for three days in a magical Time Compression Field, where your body has begun to heal.  You shall remain in this Compression Field until I am satisfied that your magical core is stable and your mind is clear of at least most of the torture damage, which should take two or more weeks of intense healing and therapy.  We have a psychologist coming in to begin working with you.  She’ll be quite invasive.  You’ll hate her at first, but then you’ll learn to merely dislike her.  Her name is Hypatia, but if you call her ‘Patty’, you’ll really rattle her cage!”

Sirius laughed in spite of himself and felt himself begin to relax.  “So, after all of this healing, when will I be let out of here?”

“Oh,” hummed Al as he finished his scans, “I suppose it will be very late in the evening on August First.  Would you like something to eat?  I have to shove several nasty-tasting potions down your gullet, and they’ll go better with food.”

Sirius felt his jaw drop open.  “Wait!  You’re keeping me suspended in time while you heal me?  Why?”

“Because,” Al replied as he pulled a bell cord hanging near the door, “there are intrigues afoot in and about the British Ministry that not only concern you but also your godson, and we in the Order felt that it would serve you best if you could be an active participant from the beginning.  You can only do that if you are healthy and of sound mind.  So, food?”

“Yeah,” drawled Sirius as he glanced at the odd window, “I could eat.  Maybe soup or something.”

 

**August 2, 1991—7:05am—Gringott’s Bank, London**

Sirius Black tugged nervously at the cuffs of his tailored silk shirt before beginning the climb up the gleaming marble stairs to the Bank.  Beside him was Gabriel Manzini, the handsome stranger that stole him away from Azkaban.  In the seeming past four weeks, Manzini was a constant presence in Sirius’ life, telling Sirius about the changes in the Wizarding World since the beginning of his incarceration, and how the British Magical Government has been trying to white-wash everything to keep the population stuck far in the past and ignorant of any progresses and advancements.  Sirius was given reading material from New Zealand, South America, North America, and Italy detailing Magical advancements and the merger of non-magical (who knew a word like ‘muggle’ would be taken as a slur?) technologies and teaching techniques.  Sirius was delighted to know that Aurors and Investigators in other countries used the best tools of both worlds to make their world a safer place.

Sirius was also given all sorts of information about the Order of Summerisle that he would never have learned just from his grandfather’s library.  He was fascinated with the history of the Great Order, which has existed since Magic has existed in the world.  Sirius endured physical training and potions (vile tasting potions) and incredibly invasive questioning by a pretty young witch who probably wasn’t as young as she looked and hated being called ‘Patty’.  He went from a mostly liquid bland diet to bland solid foods that were rich in proteins but poor in flavor, to spicier dishes that were native to Greece and the Mediterranean area.  He was finally allowed to enjoy mild honey wine while being fitted for more appropriate clothing that befitted his station rather than the pajamas and ‘scrubs’ (which Al preferred) he spent most of the time wearing.  He even made friends of a sort with the three house-elves that first cared for him when he arrived, but he really wanted to slap whomever named them Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cotton-tail.  That just seemed cruel, even for house-elves.

During his last “day” at Headquarters, Gabriel Manzini told Sirius all about the brouhaha with Harry Potter: how he was shuffled off to life with magic-hating relative that definitely mis-treated him and probably abused him, how he didn’t know about magic until he received his Hogwarts letter (and how that had to be sent multiple times between July Third and July Thirtieth), how there seemed to be a conspiracy to steal from the Potter Estate while shielding Harry from the reality of the Magical World.  Sirius found himself angered that an innocent boy was being treated so badly, but then he remembered that if these abuses weren’t discovered then he would still be rotting in Azkaban.

All of the healing and therapy had produced a very different Sirius Black than Manzini and Al had first encountered.  Gone was the emaciated, broken man they retrieved from a hell of a prison.  Now Sirius’ hair was thick and black and grown past his shoulders, and he wore it tied with a leather thong.  His face had filled out, as well as his body, and there was lean musculature visible beneath his clothes.  Even his animagus form had transformed into a giant of a dog with thick wavy fur and strong, muscular legs.  Sirius no longer walked with an arrogant swagger, though, as he had been humbled by his false imprisonment and everything he had learned since being released.  Now he stood tall and confident, but more world-wary.

And now Sirius was walking into Gringott’s Bank for the first time in over ten years.  His first mission was to visit the Black Family Heritage and Legacy vaults so that he could retrieve a usable wand and claim the Head of House Ring.  The Heir ring had not left his hand all during his incarceration, and the protections from that ring gave him the magical strength to transform into his animagus form.  The ring proved his true innocence and protected his magic, and now it was time to pass it along to his own heir—Harry James Potter.

That was his second mission: to meet the godson he hadn’t seen since before his parents died.  This is what Sirius was most nervous about.  Harry didn’t know him at all, probably had never heard his name, so Sirius wasn’t certain why exactly he was nervous.

When Sirius and Manzini reached the top of the marble stairs, Sirius nodded a respectful greeting to the goblin guards and entered the first set of double doors.  He quickly read the goblin warning on the inner chamber of the bank, if only to remind himself that the goblins were on his side, then he walked through the silver doors into the bank lobby.  He was surprised to find the bank Chief, Ragnok Sharptooth, waiting for him in front of the up-opened teller lines, but he bowed in respect for the powerful goblin and had his greeting returned.

Ragnok gestured to the gleaming ring on Sirius’ right hand and said, “That ring is part of the reason you were retrieved from Azkaban.  When Mr. Harry Potter came in to see us on July Thirty-first, I had presumed to have him try both Heir Rings, but the Black Heir Ring was missing from the secured case.  In a way, you have your godson to thank for your freedom.”

Sirius half-smiled.  “I fully intend to thank him when I see him.  I only hope he can forgive me for abandoning him with my rash behavior.”

“From what I gather, from my brief meeting with the young man,” said Ragnok, “Mr. Potter seems to be a most rational and fair-minded person.  I doubt very much that he will lay any blame on you for the unfortunate incidents that occurred ten years ago.  Are you prepared to claim a Legacy Wand from your family vault?”

Sirius grimaced.  “As dark as my family turned out to be, I very much doubt that any ancestor wand will accept me, but I need to try.  I have no desire whatsoever to visit Ollivander’s at this stage of my life.  If I can’t find a Legacy Wand, once I claim my title and fortune I can travel to have a custom wand made.”

“Very well, Heir Black, shall we continue on to my office so that you can attempt to claim the Lordship ring?”

Sirius nodded stiffly and followed the goblin back to the private offices, never noticing that Gabriel Manzini’s eyes never left him.

 

****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Roughly fifteen minutes later, after successfully trading the Black Heir Ring for the Black Lordship Ring (and hadn’t _that_ been a tense moment for everyone involved?), Sirius Black staggered out of the Vault-cart after the harrowing ride deep under the main floor of the bank and placed a slightly bloody hand on the magical lock of the Black Legacy Vault.  The thick stone door slid open and Sirius sighed in relief.  Even though the Lordship Ring had settled easily onto his finger, Sirius had doubts about being accepted as Head of the Black Family Magic after his long tenure in Azkaban Prison.  Guilty or innocent, Azkaban left an imprint on the mind and soul that only years of recovery and therapy could hope to erase.  Spending roughly four weeks time in a temporally controlled chamber made Sirius certain of how much more work he would need to do to feel whole again—at least whole enough to be a good care-giver for his godson.

But now Sirius had a short-term mission: he had to find a usable wand.  If he found an ancestor’s wand that would at least allow him to cast an _Aquamenti_ or a _Lumos_ , then it would be enough to work with until he could have one custom made.  He only had to show minor proficiency to take control of his voting seats in the Wizengamot, which was utterly stupid in his opinion and explained much about the incompetence of the ruling body of the British Magical Community: the magically weak had the majority votes in too many cases.

Sirius crept past family antiques and artifacts and portraits until he came to the Wand Sanctuary—a large wardrobe cabinet fitted with holsters and drawers made to hold generations of Black Family wands that magically transferred there after a witch or wizard died, unless the wand was destroyed at the moment of death.  The wardrobe opened automatically when he approached, as it would for any member of the main Black family if they came looking for an Ancestor Wand, and Sirius sent a small wave of personal magic toward it and watched for an answering glow. 

Row after row, and drawerful after drawerful of wands all remained inert.  Only after Sirius opened the last hidden compartment did he find a glow—and it was blindingly bright.  Sirius felt a sob catch in his throat.

The wand had belonged to his grandfather, Arcturus, who had passed away a year into Sirius’ incarceration, possibly believing his grandson’s guilt.

All of his life, Sirius had tried to live up to Arcturus’ example of being Light or Light-Grey in the face of the Darkness that had settled onto much of the Black Family.  He turned his back on his mother and his beloved brother to follow the path of the Light.  He joined the Auror Corp after school in order to fight Dark Wizards and he lost a lot of friends to the last Dark Lord, Voldemort.  When he was young, Arcturus had believed in him; but then he was sent to prison for a crime he did not commit, and Arcturus had never asked about him.

And there was Arcturus’ wand, accepting Sirius with no effort.

Sirius picked up the wand gingerly and a shower of rainbow sparks shot out of the tip and warmth filled his entire body.  He sighed in relief and stepped away from the cabinet, only to turn around and come face to portrait-face with Arcturus Black III himself—and the portrait was awake and aware.  The ageless painted face raised one regal eyebrow in judgment at it examined Sirius, and Sirius felt like squirming like a schoolboy.

“I see you’ve found my wand, boy.”

Sirius nodded self-consciously.  “Yes, Grandfather.”

“Just so you know, I never, ever believed you were guilty.  The strain of trying to force a re-trial on top of my lingering illness is what killed me, but I died believing in you.”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly.  “A re-trial would never have happened, Grandfather, as I never received a first trial.”

“WHAT?? How could that have happened?  You were one of their finest Aurors!”

Sirius sighed and his shoulders slumped.  “I have no idea.  There’s going to be an investigation on the ICWW level, but I won’t be part of that.  I was only released from Azkaban… _yesterday_?...after ten years.”

“Humph!  You look good for only being out for one day.”

“Yeah, well the ICWW Healer had me in a Temporal Compression Chamber for the equivalent of four weeks.  Realistically, I have months of mental therapy to go through yet, because Azkaban is a horrid place, but they healed my body and core pretty well.  I’ll need to reclaim the Black seat in the Wizengamot, and I’ll be fighting for custody of my godson, so I needed a wand.  They snapped mine when they tossed me away like so much rubbish.  I’ve lost so much, and I’m hoping to get most of it back.”

“Good for you, Sirius!  Do your grandfather a favour, then?”

“Anything, Grandfather.”

“When you reclaim the Family seat and choose a base home, take this portrait with you.  This is the original painting, and at the end, I really missed our discourse.  I’d like to stand with you, wherever you end up.”

Sirius smiled genuinely for the first time in years.  “I’d be glad to have you. I missed you, too.  I always feared that you lost faith in me, as well.”

“Never!  I would never have lost faith in you, Sirius!  You were my hope for the family.”


	8. Chapter Five, Part Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a tag for Mentioning Child Abuse, but that won't happen until the installment after this one. For this installment of Author Notes, I would like to answer unasked questions about Heritage Vaults and Legacy Vaults. I'll be mentioning them a lot, so I thought I'd let you know what they are and how they differ. Here it is:
> 
> A/N: The difference between Heritage and Legacy Vaults  
> The Legacy Vault holds the family money, jewels, deeds. All liquid and non-liquid assets and physical wealth. Property deeds, stock certificates, and investment certificates are found here.  
> The Heritage Vault holds the Family History. Antiques unique to the family, magical portraits, Lordship and Heir rings, Betrothal Rings, Family Engagement Rings and Ladyship Rings, personal magical jewelry, non-destroyed family wands, personal grimoires and journals, Family Grimoires, Family Histories, and any family treasures (baby books, first hand-prints, preschool artwork, in modern times) are found here. All Family Historical property that is entailed to the Heritage Vault will magically return to the Heritage Vault with the deaths of those who hold them physically unless they are destroyed with the wizard or witch that held them.

** Chapter Five: What in Hades Have You All Been Doing the Past Ten Years? (part three) **

****

**August 2, 1991—8:30am—Gringott’s Bank—Ragnok’s Office**

 

“Now that you are officially ‘Lord Sirius Orion Black of the Ancient and Nobel House of Black’,” said Ragnok Sharptooth, “perhaps it is time to give you the knowledge you need to put your House in order.”

Sirius nodded seriously.  “Yes, I think that would be wise.  I know I have some recovery left, but knowing that my grandfather had not lost faith in me makes me want to do him proud.”

Ragnok nodded and grinned a toothy grin, and pressed a button on top of his desk.  A distant buzz was heard and then the office door opened and two new people walked in: a petite and well-rounded woman with graying red hair and a tall but portly elderly man.  Sirius stood in deference to their presence and Ragnok made the introductions.

“This gentleman is Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington of the Ancient and Nobel House of Porpington, Second Chair of the Visalise voting block of the ICWW, and outstanding member of the British Wizengamot.” Sirius shook the man’s hand firmly, remembering his grandfather mentioning Lord Porpington several times in regards to lack of impropriety and dishonor in Wizengamot sessions.

“And this lovely lady,” continued Ragnok, “is Madame Mageara Stilton, Special Investigator for the ICWW and agent of the International Office for Magical Child Welfare.”  Sirius shook her hand as well, understanding that her presence meant the difference between Sirius gaining custody of his godson or not.  “Madame Stilton is partnered with Investigator Gabriel Manzini, whom I believe you are acquainted with?”

Sirius nodded.  “Yes, I believe he was the one that saved my life.”

Madame Stilton offered a gentle smile.  “I’m certain that was his main objective, Lord Black.  Gabriel absolutely detests any form of abuse of power, and if you were imprisoned unjustly, then you fall into that category.”

Ragnok gestured for them all to be seated before continuing.  “Since July 31 of this year, Gringott’s has been investigating thefts and abuses in regards to the minor child, Harry James Potter.  I personally took the initiative of calling in the ICWW investigative team because I believe some of the malfeasance comes from deep within the British Wizarding Government.”

“Like tossing me away without a trial?” Sirius asked drolly.  “Has Harry’s inheritance been taken or something?”

Ragnok flexed his fingers angrily.  “Part of the Potter Trust Vault, the vault intended for schooling and other frivolous expenses for the Potter children, was breached and monies were removed, but the Heritage and Legacy Vaults, where the total Potter Wealth was held for growth and investments, were not accessed.  We do have a list of what was removed, and Gringott’s is aware of who the thief was.”

Sirius scowled.  “If I hadn’t been so determined to catch that rat-bastard, I could have kept Harry safe and none of this would have happened!”

Madame Stilton placed a comforting hand on Sirius’ shoulder.  “There is no use blaming yourself.  It was in your nature to pursue the criminal, and I’m certain you thought young Harry was in good hands, so there is no way you could have known that you yourself would have been accused of a crime.”

Sirius snorted in disbelief.  “Having Peter Pettigrew made Secret Keeper instead of me was _my_ idea!  And, yes, Hagrid told me he was ordered by Dumbledore to care for Harry, but _Hagrid_ was not Harry’s godfather and I do not answer to Dumbledore.  I should have called for back-up before going after Peter—or not gone at all because I was way too personally involved in that case and had no business acting as an Auror when my Brother-in-Magic was killed.  So, yes, I do blame myself, and I have done for the past ten years.  My self-pity might have accidentally saved me from the Dementors, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong.”

“You know,” interjected Porpington, “I find it very disturbing how often Dumbledore’s name keeps popping up in this investigation.  Is Gabriel looking into that?”

Stilton turned away from Sirius for a moment and said, “Gabriel is busy today because of all the arrests yesterday.  There’s a nasty brouhaha going on at the Ministry, especially after it became known that the former Minister was one of the ones arrested.”

“You arrested that bitch?” asked Sirius incredulously.  “I can’t say I’m upset about that.  Who else was arrested at the Ministry?”

Stilton raised an eyebrow at him.  “We really shouldn’t say, as the investigation is on-going.  However, I shouldn’t expect you to want to stay out of the loop because your godson is involved.”  She sighed and shrugged.  “Arrest warrants from the ICWW were served on Former-Minister Bagnold, Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, and former Head Prosecutor Bartemius Crouch Sr.—all because of _your_ false arrest.  If we find evidence of further corruption, there may be an international vote of no-confidence on the Ministry as a whole, which could result in a total dismemberment of the higher offices.”

Sirius whistled sharply.  “And all of this involves Harry?”

“No, of course not!  The matter with the bank is something different altogether.”

Before Sirius could respond, a soft buzz sounded in the office and Ragnok pressed a button to hear a soft response.  He looked up at the trio in front of his desk and said, “Young Mr. Potter had arrived at the bank.  He’ll be here shortly.”

****

**August 2, 1991—9:00am—Diagon Alley/Gringott’s Bank**

Harry Potter slipped through the Leaky Cauldron just as a large group of Wizards gathered for a morning coffee meeting in the main service room and a cluster of families piled out of the Floo on their way to a shopping trip.  Since several of the older children had carry-bags, nobody paid attention to Harry and his roller-trunk.  He threaded his way between and around shoppers gathering school supplies for the upcoming term and headed for the gleaming marble stairs leading to Gringott’s bank.

His belly was full from the breakfast in the tea room and he had a notebook full of questions that he hastily scribbled while eating, wanting to have as many facts in order before he made a decision about Hogwarts.

Harry bowed in greeting to the Goblin guards outside the doors of Gringott’s, and received a bow in return.  Once he passed through the secondary doors, Harry marveled at the heavy business crowd lined deep in front of teller windows.  To Harry’s delight, a happy and chittering snowy white owl drifted down from the high rafters and landed on his shoulder and began “grooming” his hair, leaving it messier than it usually was.  Harry stroked her wings and chest feathers and she nuzzled his neck in return.

“I missed you, girl,” Harry whispered to the owl, “and I’m sorry that we couldn’t spend more time with each other, but I was afraid that my aunt and uncle would have tried to hurt you.”  In response, she held out a leg, onto which was tied a silk pouch containing a gleaming red/gold token, which Harry handed to an available teller.  Very soon, Harry was escorted into the depths of the bank, beyond even the vault-cart boarding area.

The goblin, whose name Harry never heard, knocked on an old oak and metal door, and stepped away.  Harry bowed his head in thanks and received a smile in return.  Harry reached up to pet his owl gently on the head before walking through the slightly open door.  Inside Harry recognized Ragnok sitting behind the massive oak desk, but there were three people—humans—that he did not know: a small-ish woman with a kind smile, an older, grandfather-type with a round face and bright eyes, and a thin, dark-haired man wearing a shy smile.  Harry nodded in greeting to those three as he took the offered chair in front of Ragnok’s desk.

“Hello, Mr. Ragnok,” said Harry softly.  “I was hoping to see Mr. Axesmith again.  I wanted to thank him for caring for my owl.”  The owl in question clicked sharply and began again to groom Harry’s hair, causing quiet laughter from the trio of unknown persons.

“Axesmith was honored to care for such a lovely and intelligent creature, Mr. Potter.  Have you yet considered a name for her?”

Harry’s face brightened.  “Oh, yes, I did!  I got some extra books when I went shopping the other day, and in one of the history books there was a story about a lady named Hedwig Marquorte, who was an interpreter for the Goblin Nation back in 1538—before the translation spells were placed in all of the public banks—and I thought that Hedwig was a lovely name.”  Harry turned to the pure white owl and asked, “Would you like to be called ‘Hedwig’?  That name is almost as pretty as you.”

The newly named Hedwig hooted softly and nibbled the tip of Harry’s ear, and the boy giggled. “I think she likes it.  I hope we’re going to be great friends.”

“Yes,” said Ragnok wisely, “I’m certain you will be.  I’m surprised that you mention those translation spells so casually.  Most wizards around here think the goblins speak English when we do business with them.”

Harry shrugged lightly.  “I guess it just made sense to me.  Everything about Magic seems so wonderful to me that I want to learn all about it, but when I came to the bank the first time, you spoke into an intercom like they had at my school, and you weren’t speaking English, and I thought why should you speak English at all, if the Bank is your house?”

Ragnok chuckled.  “Polite, intelligent, and well-spoken; it is no wonder I find you fascinating, Mr. Potter.  Now, before I introduce you to my other guests, we have much to discuss.  Do you have any questions for me, first?”

Harry nodded and reached for the cross-body bag he wore over his tailored shirt.  He pulled out the spiral-bound notebook that he sneaked out of Dudley’s room, un-noticed because Dudley never paid attention to school supplies.  Harry had taken time over the last two days to flip through his schoolbooks, and the extra reading material that he purchased from Flourish and Blotts, and when something struck him as odd—mostly in regards to his place in the Wizarding World—he wrote notes and questions.  Before bed, Harry re-read those notes and compiled more concise questions to ask the Goblin Leader, since he was the one who showed more concern for Harry.

“Well, Mr. Ragnok,” said Harry as he opened his notebook, “I do have a few questions that weren’t answered in the books I read.  If that’s okay, that is?”

Ragnok nodded gravely.  “I should have expected no less of such an intelligent young man. Very well, Mr. Potter, shall we hear them all at once, or do you want one answer at a time?”

Harry nervously looked over his shoulder at the three as-yet unknown persons in the room and assumed they were there to deal with him.  “Um, maybe I can just read them all at once, and you can answer in order of importance?”

Again, Ragnok nodded, and other three silently moved their chairs closer to Harry and Ragnok to better hear Harry’s concerns.

“Um, okay then,” Harry cleared his throat, “Here’s what is really bothering me that I would like to understand:

_Is there a Wizarding Child Welfare Office and are they going to ignore me, too?_

_Who wrote those horrible books and why were they allowed to tell lies like that?_

_Why am I so famous for being orphaned and why do people only care about that?_

_If I decided not to go to Hogwarts, do I have to go back to the Dursley’s house?_ ”

Harry looked up from his notebook and saw the rapt expressions on everyone else’s faces.  “Um, those are the most important questions that I had.”

Ragnok sat back in his massive throne-like chair and folded his hands together over his chest.  He looked at the other three in the room, and the kind-looking lady spoke first.

“Harry, My name is Madame Mageara Stilton—but you can call me Maggie, if you like—and I’m a sort of special police officer that works with children’s cases.  May I ask you a few questions first?”

Harry smiled and nodded.  “Yes, ma’am, if you like.  I’ll try to answer.”

Stilton smiled at the boy.  “You need only be completely honest, Harry.  Nothing bad can come of this for you, I promise.  Now, you asked about Child Welfare; do your guardians abuse you?”

Harry’s eyes grew impossibly wide. “Um, not…they don’t beat me.”

“Harry,” she said calmly, “there are other ways to abuse a child than beating him.  Do they yell at you or lock you away or withhold food?  Are you punished for even the slightest thing?  It’s alright to answer, Harry, you won’t be in trouble.”

Harry nodded and swallowed.  “I didn’t really know what my name was until I found some papers in Uncle Vernon’s desk before I started school when I was six years old.  They didn’t even want to send me to school, but the neighbors had seen me around for a long time, so they knew I was there and Aunt Petunia was afraid that someone would say something if they kept me home.  Aunt Petunia likes to talk about the neighbors, but she hates being talked about.  And I only learned when my birthday was after I started classes.  I wasn’t allowed to do well in school, either—or at least, I wasn’t allowed to get better marks that my cousin Dudley.  If I did well, I didn’t get dinner for a week.  I didn’t mind much, really, because I got free breakfast and lunch at school, but I never got a lot to eat at home anyway, and if I don’t eat really quickly then Dudley will take the food off of my plate before I finish.

“I don’t have any friends at home, either, because Dudley would beat-up anyone who was nice to me.  He and his friends would chase me around the schoolyard and neighborhood all the time, and if they caught me I’d get kicked or hit, so I learned to run really fast.  Aunt Petunia never said anything and Uncle Vernon said it was just Dudley being a boy and I needed to toughen up.  And my uncle’s sister, whom I have to call Aunt Marge even though she’s not my aunt, comes to visit with her bulldog, and she sets the dog to attack me often.  Once it even chased me up a tree and I was stuck there for hours while she watched from the front lawn.”

Stilton eyebrows furrowed slightly but she tried to keep her expression neutral.  “Did you ever tell anyone about this; a teacher or counselor at school, perhaps?”

Harry nodded.  “I did tell one teacher that I had to cook for my family, but she didn’t believe me.  And I told another teacher that I slept in the cupboard under the stairs and did all of the chores around the house, and she promised to look into it, but the next day at school we had a different teacher and the one who tried to help me had transferred to another school.”

“I see.  Why didn’t you get enough to eat, Harry?”

Harry shrugged.  “Uncle Vernon always said that it was bad enough that he had to take me in after my drunk father killed himself and my mother in a car crash, and he shouldn’t have to spend all of his money feeding me.  He said I cost a fortune just for what I did get, so I should work for my keep.”

Ragnok took this time to speak up, saying, “Mr. Potter, we have found a few discrepancies in your bank accounts.  Would it surprise you to know that your uncle receives money on the third of every month for your upkeep, and that he has done since the first month you lived in that house?”

Harry gaped.  “Well, it must not be very much, because he’s always complaining about money!  He finds money to spoil Dudley, and he takes the three of them on vacations when he gets a work bonus, but he can’t be getting much for me because his car is second-hand and the house needs repairs.”

Ragnok growled.  “Mr. Vernon Dursley receives £1000 on the third of each month, directly from the vault that you took your supply money from, Mr. Potter, and by any account that is enough money to feed and clothe a family of four very well, indeed if it is added to your uncle's salary from his job.  With your permission, as main and sole account holder, I would like to force a retrieval of those funds, so that all of the money that was _not_ used to care for you is placed back in your vault.  You should not pay for Vernon Dursley’s greed.”

Harry was visibly upset.  “But why?  Why would he lie about that?  Does he hate me that much?”  The owl, Hedwig, wrapped her wings around Harry’s head in an effort to comfort the boy, but it was the movement of the dark man that calmed him, as thin arms wrapped around his shoulders in a gentle hug.

“It’s okay, pup.  It might not seem like it now, but everything will be okay.”  The voice was calm and gentle and rough, as if the speaker was not used to speaking out loud.  But it was enough to calm Harry, who lifted his head to see into the stranger’s eyes.

“Who are you, and why did you call me ‘pup’?”

The dark man sat back on his heels and blushed red from forehead to neck. “I’m, um, Sirius Black, Lord of the Ancient and Nobel House of Black—and your father was my best friend.”

In an instant, Harry’s demeanor brightened.  “You knew my father?  Can you tell me about him?”

Sirius laughed and said, “Of course I can, but perhaps we should finish the rough business first?”

Harry reluctantly nodded.  “Okay, yeah.  Let’s get the hard stuff done with.”

Sirius stood and leaned back on Ragnok’s desk, balancing his hands on the edge behind him and crossing his ankles.  “Now, while Madame Stilton stews over your revelations about your home life, I would like to ask about the books you mentioned.  What are you talking about?”

Ragnok cleared his throat loudly and Sirius turned around to see him looking rather sheepish for a goblin.  “This falls on me completely, Lord Black.  You were certainly not to know, but while you were…away, several authors published—only in Britain, mind you—books containing information about Harry Potter.  Three of those books, _Modern Magical History_ by Merriweather Beechcombe, _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ by Reginald Heerworthy, and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_ by Mathalba Morrigan, all contain legitimately historical information concerning Voldemort and the Potters’ deaths, although _Rise and Fall_ does tend to touch on the hyperbolic side of things.  The other so-called authors, R. S. Keeter and Ashburn Kettleburn, have written stories along the lines of _The Continuing Adventures of The Boy Who Lived_ and _Harry Potter and the Dragon Race_ or _Harry Potter Saves a Unicorn_.  Those have been marketed as children’s books, and are labeled as fiction, but my tellers have been hearing for years how some of those children speak of the fictional _Harry_ as if he is a real person.  At least one generation has been raised on those books, and recently there has been talk in the Bank lobby about how this is the year that The Boy Who Lived will finally come to Hogwarts.

“But beyond the scope of many delusional children, there is the problem of what is written in _Great Wizarding Events_ , where the defeat of Voldemort is laid solely on the hands of this boy, who was fifteen months old at the time.  The reason Mr. Potter is so famous is because the British Ministry of Magic has spread the so-called _factual_ information that Harry Potter did something that night that defeated Voldemort for all time, and the Wizarding public has _believed_ it for ten years.  The Clan Leaders find it unconscionable that such pressure is placed onto a child, as we believe children to be our greatest assets.”

“When we came into the Leaky Cauldron,” said Harry timidly, “someone said my name, and everyone turned to me and they mobbed me, shaking my hand and congratulating me and telling me how happy they were to meet me, and I had no idea why.  And when I asked Mr. Hagrid about it, he told me about all the celebrations that happened that night, and all I could think about was how all those people were so happy and my parents died, like they were happy I was an orphan!”

Once again, Sirius was on his knees comforting Harry, but there was anger in his eyes.  He looked over Harry’s shoulder at Madame Stilton and asked, “We can do something about this, right?  Legally?  I mean, the boy has been slandered!”

Stilton huffed as she carefully notated each title and author.  “Of course we can do something now.  I’m not certain we can memory charm every child who has read those books, however, but we can make it illegal to _own_ them now, and the authors can be charged with libel and fined.  I have to place several calls, but I think those books will be off shelves by the end of the week, and the authors will be severely sanctioned.  I foresee _many_ fines in their futures.  Perhaps equalling the total profits from the sales of those books.”  She looked up and smiled at Harry.  “I’ll make the calls when we are done here, and I’ll let you know how everything goes, alright?”

“Thank you, ma’am,” nodded Harry.

“Now, Harry,” said Sirius, bringing the boy’s attention back to himself, “I can certainly understand why you would not want to go to Hogwarts, knowing that all of your classmates might have read those books, but there are options that you might not know about.  There are other magical schools, in other countries, that you could attend for your formal education.  Or you could have private tutors and take your examinations at the Ministry Education Offices.  But I can assure you of one thing, Harry, and that is that you will never, ever have to go back to that house again.”

Harry gulped.  “Because I’m going to live with you?”

Sirius nodded.  “After a fashion, you will.  I have to deal with a few things, and it will take some time, but I will eventually become your legal guardian.  In the meantime, Lord Porpington here has volunteered to become your Legal Advocate and Magical Guardian.”

Harry’s face screwed up in confusion.  “What’s the difference?”

“Well,” said Porpington, speaking for the first time, “a Magical Guardian is supposed to be assigned to every Magical child born into a non-magical family.  The purpose of the Magical Guardian is to protect the interests of the child, to make sure the families don’t abuse the magic in order to elevate themselves in some way.  As your Magical Guardian, I will act independently to make sure nobody steals from you again, or forces you to use your magic against your wishes.  I will also make sure your education is up to snuff in every way, whether or not you attend a formal school. In short, it will be my job to answer your questions as they come up, or find someone who will.  As I will be acting independently, I shall be your Magical Guardian long after Lord Black becomes your legal Guardian.  You will live in my manor with me until Lord Black has his affairs in order, but he may visit with you as often and for as long as he or you wish.”

“Now,” said Ragnok, “I believe it is time to answer some unasked questions, all involving James and Lily Potter’s wills.”

 

**August 2, 1991—11:45am—Ministry of Magic Holding Cells**

Gabriel Manzini prowled the hallways of the holding facility like a trapped tiger, and everybody kept well out of his way.  In two of the Ministry cells sat Former Minister Millicent Bagnold and soon-to-be-Former Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour.  Both were sour-faced and neither was speaking.

Well, Bagnold was speaking, but her vocalizations were limited to protestations of any guilt and demands for an attorney.  Manzini was willing to let her stew for a while.  Scrimgeour was angry enough to spit nails, but he had yet to speak at all, not even to ask for an attorney.

Neither “guest” of the ICWW had asked why they were arrested, and that had Manzini seriously concerned.

What had Manzini more concerned was the lack of his third target: Bartemius Crouch Sr.  The man was not in his office the day of the arrests and his home was under some sort of War Ward.  Manzini was currently waiting for the arrival of an ICWW Special Retrieval Team, who would break down the Ward and enter the home, whether or not Crouch was in residence.  Even if he was not there, he was most certainly hiding something nefarious, and Manzini could not wait to find out what it was.

 

“I demand to know what is going on here!”  Madam Amelia Bones stormed into the holding area in a furor. 

Manzini spun to intercept her and he guided her into an empty interrogation room.  “You can demand all you want, Madam Bones, but you are authorized for nothing.  I suggest you calm yourself and let me do my job.”

Bones snarled at him.  “Your ‘job’ has good people in cells!  Rufus Scrimgeour is beyond reproach and Madam Bagnold was an honorable leader of the Wizarding Government!”

“Really?” Manzini asked drolly.  “So these ‘above reproach’ people that you hold in such high esteem did not falsely imprison a decorated Auror with no proof of guilt and no trial?  They did not take bribes to insure that certain sons of Nobel Houses were given the Kiss, leaving way for more malleable family members to take control of the Wizengamot seats?”

Bones’ jaw dropped, so Manzini delivered the death-shot.  “The ICWW is mere inches away from forcing a vote of No-Confidence on the British Ministry, and once that happens the non-magical Ministry will come to our side and this building will be gutted. Do you want to be a part of that, or do you want to prove to me that you are the honorable law enforcement officer that your reputation would have me believe?  Because let me tell you, Madam Bones, going directly from a corrupt Minister to an inept one has done the British Government no favors, and you are being led around like a prize hound by Fudge and his ‘handlers’.  So, what’s it going to be?”

 

**August 2, 1991—3:30pm—Chester, England**

Magical strength and power are directly correlated with mental, emotional, and physical health and strength.  If a wizard is damaged physically, either from illness or injury, but he is emotionally and mentally healthy, he may still be magically stronger than an un-damaged wizard.  However, if a wizard has some mental defect—psychosis or brain injury—or is emotionally crippled by deep depression (or grief, because loss of a loved one can incapacitate), he may be magically weaker than a physically damaged wizard.

And some magical beings are naturally more powerful than others.  The house elf is extremely more powerful than a human wizard.  An ill or weak house elf is going to be more powerful than the strongest wizard, no matter what, but a healthy house elf will be the most powerful magically of all.  It is only the Elf Vow, given at the dawn of Magic in the physical world, to serve and protect humanity that protects humans from an angry or damaged house elf.  Of course, the humans also have a part in this protection, as they have to care for, respect, and not abuse the elf—for to do so is to cause madness, and a mad house elf is dangerous to everybody.

So, when the Ward-Breaking Team that Gabriel Manzini called in to break the wards around the Crouch home in Chester found that they were Elf Wards rather than War Wards, they quickly called in a duo of Order House Elves—Streeter and Cogs—whose main purpose in life was to train the War Mages for the Order of Summerisle.  These elves were particularly revered within the Order because of their dedication to the training of the War Mages, so they were often sent on their own missions where they could slip in and out without notice.

Streeter and Cogs took one short look at the Elf Wards and snapped them down without a thought, and then complained about the lack of challenge before popping back to Headquarters.  Manzini merely shrugged before ordering the Ward-Breakers to force entry to the house.

Crouch was waiting for them in the entry-way, but was unarmed and looked rather defeated.  Manzini was somewhat confused by this, because Crouch was absent from the Ministry when Scrimgeour was arrested and would have no idea he was being hunted as well.

“Those were some pretty impressive wards, Mr. Crouch,” said Manzini as he stepped inside the shattered entry-way.

Crouch huffed.  “I’ve a right to privacy, what of it?”

“Well,” drawled Manzini as he glanced around the tidy living room, spotting the house elf huddled near an empty armchair, “one would think you had something to hide.”  The house elf flinched.  It was a small movement, almost un-noticeable, but Manzini was trained to see the small things.  Without taking his eyes off of the elf, Manzini ordered Crouch to be placed in restraints.  “You are under arrest, by order of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards, for corruption, false imprisonment, and magical malfeasance.”

With each word, the elf inched closer and closer to that empty armchair, hands and ears twitching nervously.  Manzini wondered if the armchair was transfigured from something illegal, or if it was stuffed with some banned substance.  It was quite possible that the carpet the chair was sitting on was one of the banned flying carpets that the British Ministry found so distasteful (but were quite useful in other countries as magical family travel options were limited).  Manzini’s instincts told him that the elf was hiding something on Crouch’s orders, so he walked calmly to the corner with the armchair.  The elf moved to stand almost in front of the chair, as if to bar him from moving forward.  It was almost adorable, how this elf stood by the wizard she served, but it was an ill-considered effort.  If Crouch was breaking another law, and the elf was in cahoots, the act could damage her magic and mind.

Manzini moved closer to the armchair, confident that the elf would not attack him, but before he could touch the chair he kicked something invisible on the floor approximately one foot from the front of the chair.  Manzini kicked out lightly and again met invisible resistance—and the elf twitched.  Manzini looked around behind him to where Crouch still stood with the Ward-Breakers, and he found the man staring wide-eyed and panicked at him.  Or at the armchair?

Quickly Manzini whipped his arm forward and he grabbed a handful of a silky invisible fabric, and he pulled it free from the chair, revealing the invisibility cloak and what—or rather, who—it was hiding: a gaunt, dazed, ageless man dressed in track pants and a loose long-sleeved athletic shirt and dirty white socks.  From the blank look on the man’s face it was clear that he was under the Imperius Curse, and there was a slimy trickle of drool running from the corner of his mouth.  Once he was revealed, the elf burst into manic, uncontrollable sobbing.

“Elf!” Manzini barked, “who is this man?”

The elf hiccupped and whimpered before answering, “This is young Master Barty.  Winky be taking care of him for the Master.”  Fat pearly tears fell from her eyes and rolled down her pale cheeks.  This elf was clearly in distress and it made Manzini’s cold heart ache to see it.  If she experienced too much distress she could go mad, and that would destroy her magic and kill her.

Manzini mentally reviewed all that he knew about Bartemius Crouch Sr.: He was a decorated prosecutor who went after Death-Eaters with a rabid intensity—until his son was brought into the trail chamber, branded with Voldemort’s Dark Mark and he was forced to resign in disgrace.  Crouch’s wife passed away due to complications of a treatable disease, and soon after the son died in prison—or did he?

Manzini waved over a team member and asked for magical restraints.  He knelt in front of the catatonic man.  “Winky,” he said softly to the elf, “I’m going to restrain this man.  It is not to hurt him, but rather so that he will not hurt himself or others.  My main concern is to get him and you to a safe place where you can be medically treated.  You can see that he is not in good shape despite the excellent care you give.”

The elf nodded tremulously.  “Winky tries to give Master Barty good air and good food, but the Master say we have to stay in the house.  Sometimes Winky sneaks Master Barty outside when the Master is at work, but it be not enough.”

Manzini nodded in understanding.  “So you can see that we want to help him, right?  But in order to do that, we have to restrain him. If he is found free, someone might attack him when he can’t defend himself.  I also want a healer to look after you, Winky, because you have been strained with your duties.”  In fact, if this man was Bartemius Crouch Jr. and he had escaped from Azkaban with help from his father, then the elf had to know she was breaking human law by caring for the young man, and breaking human law would go against the Elf Vow and could damage her magic.

The elf stepped back and allowed her charge to be taken from her care.  Manzini provided an ICWW Portkey and the young man and the elf were transferred immediately, along with a two members of the Ward-Breaking Team, to a secure facility in Zurich, Switzerland.  Once they were gone, Manzini rejoined the rest of the team in order to transfer Crouch Sr. to the holding cells in the British Ministry.  Since the other arrestees were British citizens and their crimes took place in Britain, the ICWW trials would be held locally and would take over the Wizengamot trial chambers.  Manzini fully expected Minister Fudge to get confrontational and annoying about it.

Manzini was quite looking forward to it.

 

**August 3, 1991—2:00pm—Ministry of Magic, London**

Madam Amelia Bones sat shocked behind her desk as report after report shot through her floo connection.

**Prisoner Escape from Azkaban

**Several Dementors destroyed and the rest threatened

**Former Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold arrested in her home on charges of corruption and false imprisonment

**Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour arrested in his office on charges of false imprisonment

**Ministry official (and former head of the DMLE) Bartemius Crouch Sr. to be arrested in his home on charges of corruption and false imprisonment

**ICWW Aurors found an _imperiused_ and _dis-illusioned_ Bartemius Crouch Jr. hidden in the family home and being cared for by the family elf

**Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge ordered to report for questioning on counts of corruption and false imprisonment

Madam Bones could not believe the reports in front of her!  She did not doubt at all that the charges were well-founded.  She was only an Auror First Grade during the War with Voldemort, not yet conceiving a rise to head not only the department but then whole force, but she could never understand how Scrimgeour could allow one of their own tossed away without a trial.  And she also felt guilty for not standing up for Sirius Black back then; for not asking about a trial or trying to speak to the man himself.  By all accounts, Sirius Black was a dedicated Auror and a credit to the _good_ name of Arcturus Black, turning his back on the Dark legacy that infested the Black family during the rise of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

And did Bariemius Crouch Sr. really sneak his son out of Azkaban after so strongly arguing to send the boy away in the first place.  How did he manage it, when all reports said the boy perished shortly after his mother died from untreated complications of Dragon Pox.  And Crouch was such a hard-ass during the war, authorizing the Aurors to use deadly force and Unforgivable spells in their pursuit of Death-eaters and making unforgivable deals in order to make more arrests.  And yet, he forced a trial on his own son but refused to give a trial to Sirius Black.

The whole ministry was under siege and the Auror department was in a right tizzy.  They were all looking to her for answers—except for Minister Fudge, who was trying vainly to find Albus Dumbledore with the mistaken impression that Dumbledore had influence over the ICWW.  The same mistaken impression that Madam Bones had until certain things were explained to her that morning.

Her head was pounding, but there was no relief to be found.  She had long ago developed a tolerance to headache potions and muggle aspirin was of no use.  She was being flooded with interview requests and demands for answers—and the damnable Unspeakables wanted to know how the Dementors at Azkaban were destroyed because they could never find a method of doing so, so anyone who could do so was under some kind of suspicion.  Even if Madam Bones knew _who_ did it, she certainly did not know _how_ , and she wasn’t certain she would have shared the knowledge if she had it.

She wanted answers, but all she could find were more questions.


	9. Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a bit long, but it sets up a minor disaster.  
> The major disaster is coming soon.

** Chapter Five: What in Hades Have You All Been Doing the Past Ten Years? (part four) **

****

**August 4, 1991—12:15pm—Edgedale Manor, West Yorkshire**

Sirius Black and Harry Potter found themselves houseguests of Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington shortly after the elderly man performed the _Tutorem Magias_ ritual, declaring him to be Harry’s Magical Guardian until Harry reached his majority.  Once Magical Guardianship was established, Sirius produced the Black Heir Ring and Harry placed it on his right hand—middle finger—next to the Potter Heir Ring.  As soon as Harry was as protected as he could be at that moment, ‘Bertie’ removed the duo from the shelter of the bank so they could review Harry’s life to that point in more comfort than Ragnok’s office offered.

Harry spent all of Saturday, August 3rd, telling Sirius and Bertie about his life at the Dursley’s.  Madame Stilton would be investigating the Dursley’s within the fortnight, but Bertie wanted to know all about it now, without ‘Mags’ interrupting to ask annoyingly official questions.  Harry stumbled over tales of being chased by Dudley in the schoolyard or through the neighborhood, or of being locked into a dark, spider-y, dust-filled boot cupboard every night, only to be awakened early every morning to make breakfast for a family that would just as soon ignore Harry.

Bertie ordered tea from the house elves, and Harry was enthralled with the little creature that brought it to them.  Bertie had to explain the noble history of the house elf, and their vow of service to Magical Humans so that Wilde Magic would not run amok through all human settlements.  Harry had an opportunity to question the house elves while he ate his snack and was happy to hear that they were healthy and happy and satisfied with their lives.

“Aunt Petunia might like magic,” said Harry wistfully after the elf popped away to finish his duties, “if she could get one or two elves to work around the house.  Of course, she’d keep the worst jobs for me, still.”

Sirius lowered his china teacup to the matching saucer and glanced warily at Harry.  “Did you not have any good days while you were there, Harry?”

Harry thought for a long moment before answering.  “Well,” he said finally, “usually Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon would take Dudley and one of his friends somewhere fun for his birthday, so I would be sent to Mrs. Figg’s house for the day, so those were good days.  I didn’t have to do chores there, and she usually let me watch whatever I wanted on the telly, but she also made me look at lots of albums filled with cat photos.  Mrs. Figg has a _lot_ of cats.  And her house smells of cabbage all the time.”  They all laughed for a moment before Harry brightened.  “Oh!  But this time, Mrs. Figg had tripped over one of her cats and broke her leg, and Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn’t have anywhere to send me—and they’d never leave me home alone—so they had to take me with them.  And because we were in public, they had to almost treat me like I was a real person.”

Bertie and Sirius frowned in disapproval, but Harry didn’t notice, continuing with his story.  “We went to the zoo, and I had a lemon-ice and part of Dudley’s dessert at lunch, but best of all—I got to see all of those cool animals!” 

Sirius offered a wan smile.  “That does sound like a good day, Harry.”

“Yeah.  It was almost perfect, until we got to the snake house—but I didn’t mean to do it!  Uncle Vernon was really mad when we got home, and I got locked into my cupboard for two days with no meals, but I still remember all the fun I had.”

“What happened at the snake house, Harry?” asked Bertie, wondering what could have been so bad that the boy was locked away without food for two days.

“Well,” said Harry cautiously, “Dudley and Vernon and Piers went around knocking on the glass cases, trying to make the snakes move, and I was standing near a big boa constructor, and I guess I muttered something like ‘I bet that happens a lot’—and the snake answered me back!”   Harry totally missed the astonished looks that Bertie and Sirius exchanged.  “I guess I chatted with the snake for a minute before Piers and Dudley came back, because the snake was moving then, you know.  And Dudley knocked me to the ground, and then the glass just…disappeared…from the case and the snake got away.”  Harry giggled a bit and said, “I heard the snake say he was heading to Brazil, but I know the zookeepers would have caught him soon.  He wasn’t very fast.  But Dudley got all upset and was carrying on the whole way home, and in the car Piers said I was talking to the snake and Uncle Vernon got really mad.”

“Harry,” asked Bertie, “is that the first time you talked to a snake?”

Harry shook his head.  “Oh, no.  I talk to the garden snake all the time when I’m weeding the back flower beds.  And I saw another snake at the play park once, and I talked to it until other kids came by and scared it away.  Is that bad, that I can talk to snakes?”

Bertie chuckled.  “Oh, no Harry, it’s not bad at all—in most of the world.  In fact, it’s an inherited talent called Parsel-tongue.  It’s fairly rare, so there aren’t many Parsel-mouths around.  There is an entire branch of magic, called Parsel-magic, that is entirely Light and is healing-based.  It’s difficult to learn, because it must be taught by another Parsel-mouth, but it’s the best type of healing in the world _because_ it is entirely Light.”

Sirius nodded.  “The healer that cared for me after I got out of Azkaban was a Parsel-healer.  I don’t know much about it, but I’ve never been treated better by a healer.”

“There are books, written in Parsel-writing, that I could get for you, if you are interested.  Perhaps we can convince the healer to teach you, after you are healed, of course.”

That was another thing Harry was willing to deal with: being treated for years of neglect and malnutrition while he was living with the Dursleys.  At the bank, before Harry was allowed to leave with Bertie and Sirius, Ragnok asked a Goblin Healer to examine him, and they found a lot of nasty business with his general health—and a possible ‘Darkness’ embedded in his Magical Core.  Harry didn’t like the sound of that, but he also didn’t want to stay in the bank for a long time, either, so Bertie said he would take Harry to someplace called ‘Headquarters’ for proper treatment and Healing.  Since Sirius had to go back as well, they would be treated together, giving them time to get to know each other.

“Yes, please,” said Harry, excitedly, “that would be great to learn something like that!  Is this something I can learn at Hogwarts, as well?”

Sirius looked rather ashamed as he answered, “Well, no, that subject is not taught at Hogwarts.  The wizards in Great Britain, well, they don’t look too kindly at Parsel-mouths.  They actually think Parsel-magic is Dark magic and is inherently evil.  That’s a load of nonsense, of course, but British Wizards are incredibly insular in their thinking.”

Harry’s brow furrowed in confusion.  “Why would they think that, if it’s not true?”

Sirius sighed.  “British Wizards, for some reason, have insulated their world from every other Magical community in the world in the hopes that they could prove they were superior to all others.  Time has somehow stopped in Wizarding Britain sometime around 1600.  You notice how wizards dressed when shopping in Diagon Alley?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, that’s how Wizards in Great Britain dress—all of the time.  There are no modern conveniences here; no televisions, no movie houses, no amusement parks or science museums.  Non-magical electronics will not work in the magical enclaves and publications from the non-magical world are not allowed in Wizarding bookshops and Healers and Medical staff are not permitted to use non-magical methods or cures.  I’m sure Bertie can tell you reasons why all of this is so, but the question was about Parsel-magic, and I do know part of that answer: three past British Dark Lords could speak Parsel-tongue.  Two of them were in power long ago, like four hundred years ago, but the most recent was just ten years ago—the Dark Lord Voldemort.”

Harry swallowed deeply.  “He’s the one who killed my parents, right?  And he could use the Lightest magic?”

Bertie shook his head.  “No, Harry.  Voldemort could _speak_ Parsel-tongue, as could those past two Dark Lords, but they could not _cast_ Parsel-magic.  They never learned how, and if they could have somehow found texts on the subject, I doubt they could have read them.  Parsel-magic can only be taught by other Parsel-wizards, and only someone with a pure and Light magical core can learn it.  From what I understand about Voldemort, he used normal spells, but he spoke them in Parsel-tongue instead of English or Latin.”

“But Healer Bonecracker told me that there was a Darkness on my core. Doesn’t that mean my Core is Dark?”

“Not at all, Harry.  Healer Bonecracker said the Darkness was _on_ your Core, not _in_ it.  That means that it can be removed.  Your core is still pure, Harry, and Parsel-magic is open to you if you want it.”

Harry beamed widely.  “Oh, I think it would be wonderful to learn, Bertie!  I like the idea of being a healer!”

Sirius smiled back.  “I think your mother would be proud of you for being a healer.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Harry spent the next two days learning about his parents from Sirius, who sadly admitted (after hearing all about Harry’s treatment by Dudley) that he and Harry’s father were bullies in school—especially in regards to one particular student who was a close friend of Harry’s mother.

“I really can’t explain or understand it, Harry,” said Sirius over ice cream one night.  “We never really went to school thinking of ways to hurt or humiliate Severus, but once we were within the castle, all bets were off.  Of course, once Lily decided to give James more than a passing glance, James backed off.  I was happy for him, of course, but I still hated Severus—at least, in school I did.  During break, I never gave him a second thought.”

This confession led Bertie make a note about having Sirius examined for magical compulsion spells.  Sirius rolled his eyes but did not object.  Stranger things have, in fact, happened to him.

Bertie and Sirius also carefully went through the contents of the Potters’ wills with Harry, explaining the custody issue and why Harry should never have been sent to Petunia in the first place.  After Harry go over the shock of having other options ignored, he seemed thrilled to have a god-brother somewhere out there.

“I understand why the Longbottoms couldn’t take me in, but it might be nice to meet their son.  I’ve never really had a real friend before.”

“Well, as your Magical Guardian, I can certainly approach Lady Longbottom about a possible meeting.  I don’t know the Longbottoms well, except by reputation, but they are a Light family and vote as such in the Wizengamot.  I’m sure Lady Longbottom would be happy to have her grandson meet a peer before the start of the school term.  Perhaps we can reserve a conference room in Gringott’s, for security purposes.”

 

Bertie also hesitantly brought up the marriage contract with Harry’s name on it.  “It’s illegal, of course,” said Bertie.  “The two names on the Guardian lines of the contracts are fraudulent.”

“You mean two fake people signed me up to marry some girl I never met?  Would possibly never meet?”

Bertie glanced at Sirius before answering.  “Do you remember the Guardianship ritual I performed in the Bank?  Well, that ritual made me your legal Magical Guardian, and Wilde Magic sees me as such.  But the person who drew up that Marriage Contract listed his name as your Magical Guardian—but he never performed that ritual.  If he had, I never would have been able to.  And the other name on the contract, the girl’s guardian, is not the name of her Head of House, and that makes the contract fraudulent and illegal.”

“Well,” said Harry definitively, “I don’t want to marry that girl.  I don’t think I could marry someone I don’t love.  I mean, my parents married for love, right?”

“They did,” confirmed Sirius.  “I watched James chase after your mother for close to seven years, and I watched when she finally, finally, decided to say yes to one of his invitations in fifth year.  Of course, they didn’t start seriously dating until seventh year, but James was besotted long before that.”

“See,” said Harry, “I think I deserve something like that, don’t you?  Besides, girls are kind of….”

“Harry,” said Sirius softly, “do you not like girls?  I mean, there ‘s nothing wrong with that, but….”

Harry gave Sirius a horrified look. “No!  Geez, Sirius, I mean, I’m _eleven_!  Girls are weird.  Boys are weird, too.  I’ve never even had a _friend_ before, so I’m not really looking for a girlfriend!”

Sirius sank back into his chair with a sigh.  “I’m sorry, Harry.  You’re right, of course.  You need a chance to be a kid first before I try to marry you off.  I’m just being silly, that’s all.”

“Right, then,” said Bertie with good humor, “since you’d like to make friends, is there anyone else that you met recently that I could arrange a meeting with?”

Harry shrugged.  “There was a girl in the bank that first day.  She was nice and gave me a hint about how to shop for supplies.  I’d at least like to say thanks.”

“That sounds very reasonable, Harry.  Did you get her name?”

Harry looked at Bertie earnestly.  “Well, her parents called her ‘Hermione’, but that’s all I heard before they walked out of the bank.  But they were exchanging pound notes for wizard money, so I don’t think they were a magical family, does that help?”

Bertie smiled brightly. “Indeed it does, Harry.  I’ve travelled far and wide, both within the magical world and without it, and rarely have I heard the name ‘Hermione’ outside of Shakespeare’s _A Winter’s Tale_ or Greek mythology.  I doubt I’ll have trouble finding her; I do have contacts, you know.”

Harry happily helped the house elves make meals—something they only allowed because he seemed to enjoy it so much—and they ate on the terrace over-looking Bertie’s gardens.  They talked about the differences between magical communities in other parts of the world and magical communities in Britain, and that led to differences in educational systems.  And that conversation led to a deep discussion about what Harry would need to know about being a Peer, not only of the Magical Realm, but also the Non-magical Realm.  (Harry would be a Baron, who knew?)

Which led to Sirius hesitantly bringing up lack of opportunities for Harry to learn about all of that stuff.

Which led to Bertie offering a unique chance for Harry’s education _and_ healing.

“What I would like to suggest,” said Bertie on the morning of August sixth, “is that we place you in a Temporal Chamber on Summerisle.  Once there, you can be healed, cured of that Darkness, and taught everything befitting a young Lord.  Of course, there would be drawbacks to a Temporal Chamber.”

“Like what?” asked Harry, intrigued.

“Well, once inside the Chamber, time would pass at a different pace than in the outside world.  So you would physically age even though your actual birthday would not pass again.  Considering all of the healing that needs to be done, a minimum of four days would be needed inside the Chamber, which would roughly equal four years.  During that time, your body and core would be healed and the Darkness would be removed and studied.  You would also be taught basic magic—the kind children learn growing up in a magical household—and magical control so that instances of accidental magic diminish. We can also bring in educators for etiquette, Wizengamot Protocols, Lordship duties, and the like. 

“Of course, once you are inside the Temporal Chamber for that length of time, your first magical maturity will hit, and you will become more powerful, so there will have to be extra training in magical control as you will be more powerful than any of your future classmates.  You will, of course, still be eleven-years-old once you emerge, despite the physical and magical maturity.”

Harry seemed excited by the prospect of spending time in a Temporal Chamber, learning everything he should have learned if his parents were never killed.  He already feared meeting other magical children because of those lousy books; knowing that he would be magically ‘behind’ other students at whichever magical school he chose was another fear.  This way, he could at least put that one behind him.

Harry spent the rest of that day with Sirius, looking through photo albums that Sirius retrieved from his family Heritage Vault and learning more about his family, Sirius’ family, and how all British Magicals were inter-related in some way—sometimes to their detriment. 

 

Bertie, however, spent that day _Apparating_ around Great Britain, making arrangements for Harry to meet several potential allies.

His first visit was to Longbottom Manor in Cheltenham.  Lady Augusta Longbottom was happy to invite Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington into her parlour, and she provided a lovely tea service for her dignified guest.

“I am always pleased to host such a noble gentleman, Lord Porpington, but might I inquire as to the purpose of this visit?”

Bertie regarded the Longbottom matron carefully.  “Twenty or so years ago, a Dark Lord ravaged this country and left fear in his wake.  Ten years ago, that same Dark Lord was vanquished, but not before destroying more families, including yours.  I find myself in the unenviable position of being Magical Guardian to a young man who, by all rights, should have been raised alongside your grandson if the worst had happened.  And, of course, it did happen, but circumstances made his placement with your daughter-in-law impossible.”

Augusta Longbottom sniffed delicately.  “You are speaking of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, I assume.  But Albus Dumbledore is his Magical Guardian, so you must be mistaken.”

Bertie laughed mirthlessly. “I assure you, Lady Longbottom, I am not mistaken.  I performed the _Tutorem Magias_ just two days ago, and the bond _was_ sealed.  And I would like to ask you to refrain from using that deplorable moniker, as young Harry absolutely _hates_ it.  And Harry is, after all, the reason I am here.”

“Indeed?  And what can the House of Longbottom do for Harry Potter?”

Bertie picked up his teacup and gazed into its contents for a long moment, until Augusta Longbottom began to squirm imperceptibly in her seat.  “Harry has recently emerged into the Wizarding World, and his life up till now has not been kind, Lady Longbottom.  He is expressing a yearning to meet people that he can cultivate friendships with before the school term starts.  He recently found out about those horrible books that carry his name, and he was disturbed to find out that children in Britain have been reading them and getting all sorts of wrong ideas about him.  When Harry learned, just recently, that your daughter-in-law was his godmother, and that there was a son his age, Harry expressed an interest in meeting the boy in the hopes that he could find a friend.”

Lady Longbottom sniffed again in what was supposed to be a haughty manner.  “That would be…acceptable, I think.”

Bertie nodded.  “Very well.  We shall have a conference room reserved in Gringott’s Bank in London tomorrow.  If you are agreeable, you can join us for lunch and the boys can meet.”

 

                             @@@

Bertie’s next stop was an isolated castle in the Scottish Highlands.  Of course, he could not _Apparate_  directly into the castle or onto the grounds, as it was a school and was protected in extreme measures, so Bertie _Apparated_ to the train station in the nearby Magical Town, Hogsmeade.  Bertie enjoyed the walk to the castle, as it had been years since he made the trip.  Bertie was, of course, a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry long ago, and the walk to and from Hogsmeade was a treat for those in Third Year and above—on special weekends, of course.

Right about now, teachers and other faculty members would be getting the school ready for the new term, which started traditionally on September First, so Bertie was certain that he would be able to obtain aid in his quest.  Adopting his formal persona, Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington walked into the Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a house elf popped in to greet him.  He announced that he needed to speak with the Deputy Headmistress, if it was no trouble, and the elf popped away, only to return again in a moment to escort him to Professor Minerva McGonagall’s office.  He knocked and was called to enter, so he thanked the house elf and entered the office to face the stern woman inside.

“Yes?” she said, looking up from her desk, “can I help…OH! Bertie!  How lovely of you to come see me!”  The bright smile totally transformed the woman’s face.  Minerva McGonagall usually wore a perpetual frown, making her seem much older than her years.  The smile she gave him erased at least a decade, though magical people usually aged more slowly than non-magical people, so looks were often deceiving.

Porpington walked forward to give his old acquaintance a friendly hand-shake and kiss on the cheek, and then he seated himself in front of her desk, allowing her to retain place of honor.  “I’m actually here on semi-formal business, Professor.  I am representing a child who is new to the Magical community, and I am seeking your help.”

McGonagall straightened in her chair and put on a professional air.  “Of course, Lord Porpington.  Introducing a Muggle-born child to Magic can be a thrilling experience.  How can I be of help to you?”

Porpington winced at her use of the word ‘muggle’ but decided to ignore it.  “My ward is interested in reaching out to a young lady who was kind to him in the lobby of Gringott’s Bank a few days ago.  He has not had much kindness in his life, not many friends, and he is eager to reach out to someone who is in the same situation as he.”

McGonagall smiled again.  “Of course I’ll help, if I can.  What is this young lady’s name?”

Porpington gave a rueful grin.  “Well, my ward only heard her first name.  But before you voice any objections, how many first year non-magical female students will you have coming in this term with ‘Hermione’ as a first name?”

McGonagall huffed in mild annoyance.  “Of course, you are correct.  It is an unusual name, even for muggles.  I have only one child with that name coming in this term: Hermione Granger from Bromley in London.  I contacted her personally to give her the acceptance letter.  She is a lovely girl and very smart and eager to join the Magical Community.”

Porpington thanked the professor and stood to take his leave, pausing at the door to the hall.  “Minerva, I realize it has been years since my own Hogwarts days, and this would not apply to me or my family in any way, but how do introductions to non-magical students come about?”

McGonagall looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, once a child exhibits accidental magic, our rolls are updated by the Wilde Magical Synergy, as you well know.  The Hogwarts Archivist, who in this case is Professor Armenia Baymont, our Muggle Art instructor, then makes record of any nine-to-ten year-old muggle children, and all of the professors—with the exception of Professor Snape—take turns visiting the children and their parents to explain about magic and Hogwarts.  Then, once the child turns eleven and is school-aged, that professor returns with the acceptance letter and explains the supply list and gives directions to Gringott’s and Diagon Alley.  Why do you ask?”

Porpington shrugged.  “No reason, really.  Is it always a professor that meets with the student?”

McGonagall frowned.  “Well, yes, of course.  Madam Pomfrey is usually busy updating the infirmary supplies and Madam Pince is always busy in the library, repairing damaged books.  The other staff are our caretaker and the groundskeeper, and they have duties on the school grounds.  Besides, it would be most improper to send Argus Filch or Rubeus Hagrid to meet with potential students as neither one graduated from Hogwarts.”

Porpington offered one last smile before leaving the office and heading for the main entrance.  Once in the main Hall, he was waylaid by one of the Hogwarts ghosts, a mostly-decapitated fop by name of Sir Nicolas de Mimsy-Porpington, one of his own ancestors. (The family dropped the ‘Mimsy’ from the name in the 1650s.)  Porpington offered several bits of news from the outside world and was once again on his way—this time to London to meet with the Granger family.

 

                   @@@

 

Bertie transfigured his suit into a less-formal outfit of black linen slacks, pink polo-type shirt, and black loafers.  Once he looked suitably non-magical, Bertie left the empty alley-way and approached the neat row house on the tree-lined street in Bromley.  The bricked garden was tidy and uncluttered, with late summer blooms dotting the flower beds.  The windows were curtained, but open to the afternoon sun, and Bertie could clearly see the inhabitants at home for the afternoon meal.

He knocked firmly on the wooden door and waited only a short moment before it was answered by a middle-aged man wearing black slacks and a white button-down shirt.

“Yes?  Can I help you?”

Bertie nodded.  “You are Dr. Daniel Granger?”

“Yes, I am.”

Bertie smiled.  “My name is Bertie Porpington.  Might I have a moment of you and your wife’s time?  This is a personal issue regarding another child with certain…uniqueness…in common with your daughter.”

Dr. Granger opened the door wider to admit Bertie and called for his wife to come to the front parlor.  “This is my wife, Emma.  How exactly can we help you, Mr. Porpington?”

Bertie took the offered seat on the cushioned armchair by the door and smiled again.  “Actually, it’s Lord Porpington, and I am Guardian to a young boy who might be attending school with your daughter.  He was in the lobby of Gringott’s Bank on July Thirty-first, at the same time as you, and your daughter spoke to him.  He remembered her name, you see, because it is so unusual.”

Emma Granger frowned.  “So you decided to look us up?  To what purpose?”

Bertie nodded to her, in acknowledgement of how awkward the situation seemed.  “My ward, Harry, was raised in an abusive situation, Mrs. Granger….”

“It’s Doctor,” she interrupted, “actually.”

“Forgive me, please.  As I was saying, my ward was raised in an abusive situation with relatives that had no magic and feared and hated _all_ magic.  I won’t go too deeply into how they treated him, but I will say that he has had very little kindness in his young life.  That day in the bank, your daughter spoke to him in a very friendly way.  It was not much, but something as inconsequential as that stuck with him, and Harry would like to meet with your daughter, if only to say ‘thank you’ for her small kindness.  He does not, you see, have any close friends, and he was hoping to make at least one before school starts.”

The Grangers exchanged a long, desperate look before Emma turned back to Bertie.  “Our daughter, Hermione, is really looking forward to going to that school, Lord Porpington.  She’s a bit of a bookworm, you see, and she has been looked down upon for reading so much.  She’s been bullied at her school here, and she was hoping things would be different at a magical school.  She doesn’t have any friends, either.”

“Things might well be different for her at Hogwarts,” said Bertie in a comforting manner.  “The students are encouraged to study hard and learn as much as possible.  At least, they were when I was a student.  There are, of course, clubs and sports that are not academically based, so she should meet a good variety of people.”

Emma squared her shoulders.  “Still, it would be a great comfort for us if she could already have a friend before getting there.”

“Well, then, that is good news!  I shall be reserving a private conference room at Gringott’s Bank tomorrow.  I would be delighted if you and your daughter could join us for lunch.”

Emma gave a bright smile in return.  “I would love to!”

 

****

**_August 5-7, 1991—ICWW Incident Report Summaries—Agents Manzini and Stilton_ **

_Manzini:  Arrests in British Ministry of Magic of Bagnold, Scrimgeour, and Crouch resulted in unexpected revelation of escaped prisoner Bartemius Crouch Jr.  After being informed of the charges, Crouch Sr. broke down and confessed to mental stress during the mass trials during the Voldemort War.  He cited confusion and anger as the reason for sentencing several prisoners without trial.  Cases are now being reviewed to find any innocent parties that are still alive in Azkaban Prison._

_The situation with the Dementors at Azkaban Prison is untenable, and several teams of Ward-Breakers are being dispatched to destroy the creatures. A recommendation for an international corps of guards to be employed to maintain humane conditions at the prison facility has been submitted._

_Bagnold and Scrimgeour are being held for formal questioning under Veritaserum.  They are in a secured cell in ICWW Headquarters as the British Ministry has tried to move to have them released.  Crouch Jr. is undergoing treatment for prolonged exposure to the Imperius Curse.  Once he has sufficiently recovered he will be further questioned about the escape and his prior trial for Death-Eater activity.  As he was one of many who actually received a trial and was found guilty, he will be returned to a prison to live out his sentence, but that prison will not be Azkaban._

_The Crouch House Elf, Winky, has been sent to Order of Summerisle Headquarters for treatment with Lady Nimue.  Her condition is still under review, but it has been determined that Crouch Sr. ordered her to keep his secrets under threat of freedom and dishonor._

_Stilton: First-contact meeting with three publishers has confirmed the International Market refused to distribute the “Boy Who Lives” series and “The Adventures of Harry Potter” series on the grounds that they were “tacky” and ill-conceived, so they were placed for sale only in Britain.  The two publishers of those series have given over information on the authors and have complied with the ICWW ruling of libel, i.e. they are pulling all copies from booksellers and are issuing a total population recall to retrieve all books from private ownership on threat of legal actions for non-compliance.  The official recall notice was published in three wizarding newspapers for nation-wide coverage, with notice of special postal service to receive the returned books.  The publishers agreed to refund full purchase price of those privately-owned books rather than to be further fined and charged with libel.  The authors are being formally charged and will have to publically publish statements regarding their identity theft for the purposes of selling books.  The legal team formed by the Magical Guardian of Harry James Potter will be filing suit against the authors on his behalf._

_Regarding the upbringing of Mr. Potter and his physical custody: I have a surprise inspection visit scheduled with the family that was supposed to have been caring for him since the death of his parents.  During this inspection, I shall examine the house and contents, as well as the general health of the family members.  I will be accompanied by a Glamoured Axesmith, senior account manager of Gringott’s Bank, London, and Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington, Mr. Potter’s Magical Guardian.  In preparation for this visit, I have requested and been granted access to Vernon Dursley’s personal bank records from the Main Band Manager at Barclays Bank.  Further reports will be filed after this inspection._

**August 7, 1991—12:00pm—Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon, England**

Sunlight dappled through a clear window over the sink in a bright and cheery, though cluttered, family kitchen, and Molly Weasley was bustling around preparing lunch for her rather large brood of children.  She had five at home during summer break, and they were all in the garden clearing out the gnomes from the potato patch.  School would be starting soon, so Molly was mentally reviewing a list of supplies that four students would need for the coming term (the youngest, the only daughter, was not yet old enough to join her brothers at Hogwarts).  Money would be tight for school supplies with five all in attendance this year, but at least Ronald (the youngest boy) could use the uniforms and wand that his second oldest brother, Charlie, had left behind after graduation.

Molly was just setting platters of sandwiches on the table when the home Wards dinged and the clock on the kitchen wall indicated that her husband, Arthur, was home from work.  She didn’t seem very surprised as Arthur often came home to have lunch with his family, but she was surprised when he came in, absently kissed her cheek, and headed into the parlour without saying a word.

“Arthur!  What is wrong with you today?”  Molly followed her husband, aware of how agitated he was acting.

In fact, Arthur was acting rather distracted as well, perusing the family bookshelves like a starving man seeking a snack.  Molly watched as her husband removed several books, stacking them on the floor in an untidy pile.  Molly crossed the room and looked at the titles gathered together.

“Arthur, why are you pulling Ginny’s books from the shelves?”

Arthur turned around to face his wife.  “I’m sorry, Molly, but I have to take these.  Does she have more in her room, do you think?”

Molly frowned and twisted her hands together.  “I’m not sure.  Why do you have to take them?”

“There’s an official inquest and recall.  Haven’t you read the Daily Prophet today?”

Molly huffed and turned back to the kitchen.  “I was doing laundry this morning, so I was saving the paper for after lunch.  What’s that about an inquest?”  But Arthur was headed up the stairs to his daughter’s bedroom and did not answer her.

Molly found her copy of the paper and flipped through it until she found, on page three, the article Arthur was talking about.

                             ******Special Notice******

**Publishers Armando Hilliard Incorporated and Fauxhall Publishing announce an official book recall by order of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards and the British Ministry of Magic.  All books in the collections _The Boy Who Lived_ and _The Adventures of Harry Potter_ are to be recalled.  Anyone owning these books are requested to return them, via special post boxes at the Ministry of Magic, Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley, Tomes and Scrolls in Hogsmeade Village, Wizard Reads in Godric’s Hollow, or any Auror Outpost.  All books shall be refunded full purchase price by the publishers.**

**Please note that all books sold in Wizarding Britain are recorded by the Ministry.  Anyone not in compliance will be fined.  These books have been deemed unlawful and libelous. Thank you for your attention.**

Molly read the announcement twice before Arthur came back down the stairs, his arms laden with books.  “Arthur, does this mean the Ministry is censoring our books?”

Arthur transfigured a small knitting bag into something larger and began to load it with the books.  “I asked that, Molly dear, but they told me they weren’t.  It appears that the authors of those books never got permission to use Harry Potter’s name and image before they wrote and publish, and Harry Potter’s Magical Guardian took offense to them.  The authors have been sued and the publishers were given the choice of complying or being sued as well.”  Arthur hefted the bag and smiled at his wife.  “They’re trying to do right for that boy, Molly.  As a Ministry employee, I have a duty to do the same.”

Molly’s eyes softened with compassion.  “Oh, of course.  That does make sense, though Ginny will hate the loss of the books.  They are her favorite, you know.”

“Yes, well, we’ll have to explain it to her.  Besides, we’ll be reimbursed for the books, so we can buy her something new to read.”

Molly raised an eyebrow at him.  “Maybe we can use some of the money to get a new Post Owl.  Errol is past retirement age and I fear he has not too many years ahead of him.”

Arthur glanced at the shabby owl almost falling off the perch in the corner of the kitchen and winced.  “Yes, well, perhaps we’ll stop in at Eeylops’ Owl Emporium when we go to buy the boys’ school supplies this weekend.”  Arthur leaned in and kissed Molly on the cheek before departing the house and heading for the apparition point at the edge of the Wards.

Molly went to the door and called the children in for lunch, ordering them to wash up before sitting at the table.  Once everyone was eating, Molly addressed her daughter.  “Ginny, dear, there has been a governmental recall on those books that you enjoy so much.  Your father had to take them to the ministry today.”

Ginny, all of ten years old and spoiled as the only daughter, began to pout.  “Why does the ministry care if I have those books?  Don’t they want me to learn all about Harry Potter?”

Molly patted her hand gently.  “There are grown-up issues about those books, but I believe you’ve read them enough over the years, don’t you?  We’ll find something special for you when we go shopping this weekend.”

 

 

**August 7, 1991—12:30pm—Gringott’s Bank**

Harry Potter sat in a comfortable chair in one of the large conference rooms in Gringott’s Bank.  On either side of him sat Bertie Porpington and Sirius Black, the people who became the most important men in his life.  Harry had spent the last few days enjoying the attention of these men and learning about the Wizarding world.  Harry told them about his interest in running, developed after he began running from Dudley and his cohorts, and how he had wanted to try out for the track team at Stonewall Secondary School.  Since Dudley would be attending his father’s alma mater, Smeltings, Harry felt free to find his own interests, including making friends for the first time.

Now, Harry was sitting with his guardians in the Gringott’s conference room, waiting to meet two children that would hopefully become friends.  Sirius was ready to order food for a lunch meeting and Ragnok and Axesmith promised to be on hand if either newcomer (or their parents or guardians) had questions about the business side of the Wizarding world.  Hedwig was amusing herself by flying around the room, chasing a magical mouse that Bertie had conjured, and Harry was watching her in distracted amusement.

A knock on the door drew his attention from his beloved owl, and Harry sat tensely in his chair as Sirius rose to answer it.  At the door stood a middle-aged couple and a young girl with outrageously curly brown hair.  The woman looked around the room nervously before asking for Bertie, and Sirius opened the door wider to admit the family.  Before he could close the door, a much older woman in a violet suit-dress and large hat with a stuffed vulture perched on top approached the door with a chubby brown-haired boy in tow behind her.  Her eyes widened in surprise when she caught sight of Sirius and she drew back sharply.

“Sirius Black!  How on earth…?”

Sirius carefully drew the older woman into the room, with the boy closely behind her, and spoke softly in her ear.  “Let’s get the kiddies some lunch, and the grown-ups can go into the adjoining room and talk amongst ourselves while they get to know each other a bit.  Is that alright with you, Augusta?  I promise, all questions will be answered.”

The stern woman nodded sharply and directed the boy to the table in the center of the room, ordering him to sit.  The boy didn’t act surprised at the treatment, so Bertie and Sirius ignored it as well.  The other couple appeared slightly shocked but also said nothing as they directed the girl to the table as well. 

Harry looked from the adults to the children before standing to introduce himself.  “Um, hi!  I’m Harry Potter, and, uh, I guess I asked you here to meet you and maybe get to know each other?”

The boy looked wide-eyed at Harry but said nothing.  The girl, though, stood and properly offered her hand in greeting.  “Hermione Granger.  Pleased to meet you, Harry.”  The children did not notice the adults moving into another room, nor did they notice the sudden appearance of plates of sandwiches and salads and glasses of water, along with a pitcher of the same.  “I’ve read all about you,” Hermione continued, barely taking a breath.  “You’re in _Modern Magical History_ , and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century._ ”

Harry blushed darkly and nervously rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.  By the time Hermione stopped to take another breath, the boy had recovered from his shock and spoke up.  “I’m Neville Longbottom.   I haven’t read any of those books, but my Gran told me all about your parents’ sacrifice.  My parents were hurt by Death-Eaters as well.”

Harry nodded sharply and took his seat again, prompting Hermione to sit as well.  Harry reached for a platter of sandwiches and took two before passing it around the table.

“I should probably tell you,” said Harry after a few bites, “that those books were only published in Great Britain, so you might not want to take them too seriously.  I mean, those three actually have some of the facts right, but there’s a lot of hogwash in there as well.”

Hermione frowned into her water glass, so Harry continued, “I also wanted to thank you for telling me about the trunk shop that day in the bank.  A lot of people that day just looked at my stupid scar and stared at me, but you were very nice to me.  Not a lot of people are nice to me.”

Hermione looked up with glassy eyes.  “Not a lot of people are nice to me, either,” she whispered.

 

          @@@

In the adjacent conference room, Ragnok and Axesmith activated a monitoring charm so that all of the adults could hear what the children were talking about.  Since the conversation was currently benign—mostly about favorite school subjects and leisure activities—Augusta Longbottom turned her attention to Sirius and said simply, “Explain!”

Bertie offered around a plate of rare roast beef and potatoes, adult food for the adults, and responded in place of Sirius.  “During a routine investigation into fraud, information came to light that pointed to Sirius Black being unlawfully arrested and imprisoned without a trial.  He was retrieved, as you can plainly see, and is well on his way to fully clearing his reputation and rebuilding his House.  Do you have a problem with that, Augusta?”

The elderly lady bristled before answering.  “Of course not!  I fail to see how he was not given a trial, what with Dumbledore acting as Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot.  He is the greatest Wizard of this time, you know, and he would never have allowed that to happen.”

Sirius grumbled and loaded his plate without saying a word.

“Perhaps, Augusta,” said Bertie gently, “we should not mention Dumbledore at this time.  Instead, why don’t we discuss the children in the other room?”

 

                   @@@

“I guess I just learned not to trust people,” Harry was saying.  “I mean, my aunt and uncle really hated me, and my cousin would chase me and beat me.  When I told teachers about it, they ignored me.  So I never felt safe growing up.  I didn’t even know my name for a long time, because my uncle only calls me ‘boy’.  I had never heard of magic until I got that letter from Hogwarts.”

“My Uncle Algie calls me ‘boy’ all the time, too,” said Neville quietly.  “And I wasn’t even sure I was magical before I got my Hogwarts letter.  I never did accidental magic when I was little.  Uncle Algie dropped me off a pier once to see if I could float back up, but I hit the water and washed up on shore.  And he dropped me out a window to test me, and I bounced, so he told Gran that I wasn’t a squib after all.”

Hermione frowned.  “What’s a squib?”

“A squib,” said Neville, “is a non-magical person born into a magical family.  It’s like the opposite of a muggle-born person.”

“Oh,” said Hermione.  “I did all sorts of accidental magic when I was younger.  I would always be able to reach books, no matter how high up they were.  And whenever some of the girls from school would get nasty toward me, I would get invisible and they couldn’t find me to pick on me.”

Thinking quickly to change the subject, Harry asked, “Did it take you a long time to find your wand?  I think Mr. Ollivander was almost ready to give up on me, especially when I kept asking questions.”

“Oh, no,” said Hermione, “I only had to try four wands before I found mine.  What sort of questions did you ask?”

“I asked about wand-making and if there could be two wands for one wizard.  We talked about the other wand-makers in the world and how they made the wands.  We talked a lot, Mr. Ollivander and me, because it took so long for me to find my wand.”

Hermione laughed delightedly, but Neville was somber.  “Gran never took me to Ollivander’s shop.  She gave me my father’s wand to use.”

Harry perked up.  “Really?  Did it give you a warm glow when you used it for the first time?  I mean, I know we aren’t supposed to use them now, but…can you two keep a secret?”  The captivated duo nodded in agreement, so Harry continued.  “Well, I needed to get back here from my Aunt’s house, so Axesmith suggested that I get one of my ancestor’s wands from my family Heritage Vault, so I could use it to call the Knight Bus.  And when I went down there, several wands lit up like they were happy to see me, but one hummed at me and filled me with a warm happy feeling when I picked it up.  When I looked at the name plate, it said ‘Lily Evans Potter’—my mom.”

Hermione squealed in delight but Neville just slumped in his chair.

“What’s wrong, Neville?” asked Harry gently.

Neville looked up.  “My Gran said if that wand was good enough for my father, then it would be good enough for me, but it doesn’t light up or feel warm or anything.  I can’t even get it to _Lumos_ very well.”  Neville sighed and looked up at the other two at the table.  “I really like working with plants.  I’m in the greenhouse at Longbottom Manor all the time.  But Gran says I have to become an Auror, because it’s what my father did.  I love my parents, but they’re not…there.  They’re alive, and Gran takes me to see them all the time.  But they don’t really know me.  They don’t even look at me.  And Gran says I should be proud of their sacrifice—and I am—but she looks at me too and doesn’t really see me.  On my last birthday, she got me a cake that said ‘Happy Birthday Frank’ on it.”

“I guess Frank is your father’s name?” asked Hermione.

Neville nodded.  “I know I’m not a great wizard.  I never did accidental magic at all.  And Gran has all of these expectations for me, but all I want to do is raise and breed plants.”

                   @@@

 

Augusta Longbottom sat stone-still and heard her grandson, the only living link to her son, tell two children that he had never before met that he was magically weak and that his uncle—Augusta’s own brother—tried several times to kill him under the guise of testing his magic.

She felt cold.  She felt numb.

She felt the eyes of the other occupants of the room land on her in judgment.

Hearing Neville talk about his parents, cursed into insanity and residing at St.Mungo’s Hospital, started the tears forming in her eyes.  Hearing Neville telling the others about using his father’s wand and wanting to become an herbalist started the tears rolling down her cheeks.

How could she have mis-used her beloved grandson so badly?

“Augusta?”

Augusta turned to Bertie with watery eyes.  “Yes?”

“There is no way at all that a son of the Longbottom House is weak magically.  If I might make a suggestion?”

Augusta wiped her eyes on a handkerchief that Sirius produced.  “Of course, Lord Porpington.”

“We have discovered damage to Harry’s Magical Core, possibly due to spellwork, and we have decided to send him to a specialized healer, who will remove any taint to the core and heal his body from abuse and malnutrition.  Harry will be placed in a Temporal Chamber for this treatment, and he will be there for four natural days.  It would not be objectionable to us if Neville were to join him.  If there are magical blocks on Neville’s Magical Core, they should be removed.”

“And,” added Sirius, “that time would allow Harry and Neville to get to know one another better and build a closer friendship bond.  They would magically mature at the same time, and it would give them a significant advantage at school.”

Dan Granger perked up a bit at that news.  “What sort of advantage?  Would it be like working ahead in classes?”

Sirius shook his head.  “Not exactly.  During that time, they would learn magical control, so spells and charms would come more easily.  Harry, and I suppose Neville also, has to learn about his Lordship duties and rules of magical and non-magical Peerage.”

Both Dan and Emma appeared to be excited by this.  “What does ‘magical maturity’ mean?” asked Emma.

Bertie answered, “A Witch or Wizard has a Magical Core, which is the seat and center of their magical energy—the magical battery, if you will.  A wizard will have two maturities in his lifetime: once around age thirteen or fourteen, when pure, Wilde talent manifests and a wizard can begin to learn formal lessons more easily, and the second at adulthood, around age seventeen or eighteen, when the wizard’s full power settles.”

“So, just so I understand this,” said Dan, “you’ll be sending the boys into some sort of magical room where they will grow older and more powerful, and they’ll learn lessons out of school?”

Sirius smirked.  “It’s not that simple, Mr. Granger—Dan.  The topics Harry and Neville need to learn are not taught at any school.  In a more perfect world, they would learn these lessons from the current Lords of the Houses, which in their cases are their fathers.  In fact, I became Lord Black recently, since my grandfather passes, but I was never taught those things, so I’ll be learning along with them.  And the Temporal Chamber is a magical time device, in which time passes differently than in the natural world.  Harry will be going in for four natural days.  That means that here, in the ‘real’ world, four days will pass, but in the Chamber, four years will pass.  This will force his first Magical Maturity upon him even though he will only be eleven natural years old.  He will physically mature, as well, going through natural growth spurts and growing pains just as he would normally, just in a Temporal Chamber.”

Emma chewed softly on her bottom lip.  “Do you suppose, perhaps, that there is anything Hermione might be able to learn in that Chamber?  We’re afraid she might need an advantage at this school, and I’d dearly hate for her to have to deal with early puberty in a place away from home.  I know how badly her formal classmates treated her, and I’ll never believe that magical children would be different.”

The adults regarded each other carefully, while, through the monitoring charm, childish laughter rang through the room.


	10. Chapter Six: Story Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuity error between chapters 7 and 8 (or chapter 5 parts 2 and 3) was pointed out to me, so I edited to fix this error. Thanks for keeping an eye out! I don't mind that so much, as continuity errors are the bane of my life sometimes.  
> And now--the next part of the story, where I mess with canon ages a lot, because it never set well with me that James and Lily Potter got married out of school, had Harry immediately, and were then killed. I rather like the idea that they might have married right away, but they took time to make lives for themselves before having children, so that they might have reluctantly gone into hiding when Voldemort came hunting. I rather like the idea that James and Sirius became successful Aurors before all hell broke loose, and perhaps Lily got her mastery in Potions and was a working Potions Mistress.

** Chapter Six: Story Time **

**Hermione’s Story—**

At eleven years old (twelve in September), Hermione Jane Granger had no illusions about herself.  She was no great beauty, not even for a child, with out of control, curly hair that went frizzy when the air was damp, and huge teeth that protruded slightly from her mouth, especially when she tried to smile—although her parents thought she would eventually grow into them, and the freckles across her nose looked more like leopard spots, giving her complexion a ruddy appearance.

She was also incredibly shy, and so had no friends.  She tried to make friends, heaven knows.  Since beginning school, Hermione gave every effort to make friends.  She really didn’t know how, so she used the skills that she had learned made the grown-ups happy: she was polite (said ‘please’ and ‘thank-you’ and ‘so pleased to meet you’), she showed that she was intelligent (offering tidbits of knowledge if someone looked as if they needed them), and she always waited until she was spoken to before speaking.  Adults appreciated this, especially from a young child.

Children not so much.

So Hermione hid in books.  She was not a genius, but she knew how to find answers to her problems and questions, and if she could find them without involving anyone else, so much the better.  Books would never lie to her.  Books would never call her names.  Books would never make fun of her hair or teeth or freckles.  Books would never tell her that the back garden was too small for _everyone_ from class to come to the birthday party.

But Hermione also had secrets.  She had hoped that nobody would ever find out that sometimes books on high shelves somehow found themselves in her hands just because she wanted them.  And she had hoped that nobody would ever find out that her pencils in school never dulled, so that she could stay safely in her seat in the back of the classroom instead of crossing in front of Mary-Alice Engleby (the prettiest and most popular girl in her class) on her way to the sharpener.

But somebody did find out, and when school let out for the summer that year, a small man in a nice suit came to her house to talk with her parents, and he told them that Hermione was a witch and could now go to a special school for the new term. 

A new school that did not include Mary-Alice Engleby.

Hermione was thrilled.  Not only for the new school opportunity, but also to learn that there was nothing _wrong_ with her.  That she was not a freak, which she was sure is what Mary-Alice would call her if she ever found out.

Hermione’s parents, both dental surgeons, took the news with a bit of skepticism, but the little man, who called himself Professor Flitwick, demonstrated the most marvelous magic, and the Grangers accepted the proof.  They were presented with an official-looking letter introducing Hermione to the school and a list for supplies, and the professor told them that he would return at the end of July to escort the family to the magical shopping district in London.

Hermione had never looked forward to shopping so much in her entire life.  Until they reached the entrance to the district.

Everyone in the small pub was dressed as if it were Halloween, in long, colorful robes and pointed hats and cloaks with funny patterns on them.  And everyone was looking at the Grangers like they were lower than low; that they did not belong there.  It was clear that the Grangers were not magical, and that appeared to be a social no-no in this place.  Hermione had never seen her parents, usually so open and accepting, acting like they were ashamed before, and so she kept her head down even as she glanced around to see what shops there were.

When they got to the bank, she and her parents were shocked at the unusual creatures that seemed to run the place, but they did strive to be polite.  They were rewarded with toothy grins from the creatures—goblins, actually—but the magical people in the bank never gave them a second look unless it was a sneer.  Hermione hung back as her parents got in a teller line, already doubting her ability to exist in this strange, new world.  She wanted to make friends for the first time, but that didn’t seem possible now.

And then, while Hermione was waiting for her parents to change money, Hermione saw a boy in shabby but normal clothing staring at a list like the one she had.  He seemed concerned about it, so she spoke to him and told him about the luggage shop, in case that would be helpful to him.

After she said it, Hermione cursed herself.  She’d been called a swotty know-it-all so many times even she recognized when it was true.  That boy just stared at her, never saying a thing, until Hermione’s parents dragged her out of the bank to do their shopping.

Only later did it occur to Hermione that the boy did not speak because she left in such a hurry.

Only later did her suspicions become verified.

Just a few days later, another older man came to the house to invite Hermione and her parents to that wizard bank for lunch, and her parents agreed to the meeting.  When Hermione walked into the meeting room, that boy was there again, this time dressed well in a nice shirt and slacks.  There was another boy as well, shy and quiet and also nicely dressed, that was there with his grandmother—a very imposing older woman.  Hermione’s parents and the grandmother were taken into another room, leaving the youngsters alone.

The first boy, the one Hermione met in the bank, was named Harry, and he wanted to say thanks for telling him about the luggage shop.

He wanted to say thank-you.  And he wanted to be Hermione’s friend.  And the other boy, Neville, wanted to be her friend as well.

The three of them sat in that long conference room, eating sandwiches and sipping water and talking about how lonely they all felt sometimes.  They learned that they didn’t really want to go to the magical school alone, not knowing anyone and friendless.  They talked about spending more of the summer together, getting to know each other.

They were offered a rare opportunity to learn faster; to explore their magic and become stronger, and Hermione’s parents were happy to allow her to take it.

 

Every summer since Hermione started school, her parents took her on a two-week vacation to a different special location.  She had been to the French Riviera, sight-seeing in Rome, snorkeling in Australia, Walt Disney World.  Sometimes they stayed close to home, playing tourist in England or Ireland or Scotland.  Hermione learned to water ski, body surf, deep-sea fish.  Perhaps it was a way for her parents to make up for Hermione’s lack of friends, but those vacations were the best times for Hermione; she got to spend quality time with her parents having nothing but fun.  This year, thanks to the offer of pre-education in magic, Hermione’s parents were convinced to take their trip to Greece.

“The children will be in the Temporal Chamber for four days,” said Bertie Porpington, as they were finalizing the plans.  “Each day will equal one year.  To alleviate any temporal distortion and discomfort that these children might feel, they will be removed from the chamber for several hours each day.  This will keep them in time with the natural world.  It would be beneficial to you and Hermione if you will spend those hours with her, exploring the land of Summerisle of the Deep, which is hidden from non-magicals in a pocket dimension off the coast of Greece in the Ionian Sea.  Since that is the origin of all Magic, there are many wonders to experience.  Of course, after the four day interment in the Temporal Chamber, Hermione will need to immerse herself in the natural world, and Greece has many wonders of its own to explore.”  Bertie then went on to advise the Grangers to collect disposable cameras, since the magic imbued in Summerisle of the Deep might destroy a non-magical camera and protection spells could not be cast on them without distorting the mechanics, and told them to pack for mild weather as it was always pleasant on Summerisle.

Hermione and her mother went shopping after promising Harry and Bertie that they would, indeed, be making the trip with them to Summerisle.  For Hermione, it meant a learning experience, not only for magic and lore, but also history, as Greece was filled with ancient wonders.  For Hermione’s parents, it meant watching their only child become friends with two boys who were her own age and would likely stand by her for most of her life.

**Petunia’s Story—**

When the doorbell rang at seven o’clock on the morning of August 9, 1991, Petunia Evans was serving breakfast to her husband, Vernon, and son, Dudley.  On a normal day, Vernon would have ordered her nephew Harry to answer the door.  Of course, on a normal day, Harry would have been the one to be making and serving breakfast.

Petunia wiped her hands on a dishcloth and straightened the skirt of her dress before smiling at her beloved Duddikins and moving into the front hall.  By the time she got there, the doorbell had rung twice again.  Petunia scowled at the front door before schooling her features and opening the door.  On the other side were two women and two men, all wearing summer-weight business wear from obviously high-end shops.  Petunia, after all, did know what quality looked like.

“Are you Petunia Evans Dursley?” asked a short red-haired woman holding a very official-looking clipboard.

“I am, yes,” replied Petunia.  “And who are you?”

The red-haired woman smiled genially.  “My name is Mageara Stilton, and these are my colleagues: Helena Forsythe, of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children, Reginald Lancaster, of the Children’s Protective Agency, and Mr. Axesmith, from Gringott’s Bank.  May we come in?”

Petunia swallowed nervously and glanced behind her toward the kitchen, where Vernon and Dudley were still eating, unaware of their visitors.  “What is this in reference to?” Petunia asked cautiously.  Did they know about the pig tail that was attached to Dudley?”

The woman, Stilton, quirked her lips in a mean sort of way.  “We’re here in regards to your nephew, Harry James Potter.  Now, do you wish to have this discussion on the street, in front of your neighbors, so may we come in?”

Petunia’s hand fluttered uselessly around her throat as she thought about it.  Obviously, she did not want the neighbors to see any government officials at her home, but it was early yet and no neighbors were about.  But the longer Petunia stalled, the higher the risk of being observed.  Reluctantly, Petunia stepped back and opened the door wider, admitting the quartet of visitors to enter her home.  She ushered them into the parlour and bade them to sit, not offering any refreshment at all.

The two women and the shorter man, Mr. Axesmith, walked calmly into the parlour and took seats on the velveteen sofa.  The second man, Mr. Lancaster, took his time to look about the front hall, spending an uncomfortable amount of time looking at the boot cupboard under the stairs—and the large, heavy padlock on the outside of the door.

Petunia tried to convince the man to move to the parlour, but he refused.  “You do have the key for this lock?” he asked in a stern and gravelly voice.

“My, um, my husband….” Petunia stammered, discomforted.  From the corner of her eye, she could see Vernon rise from his chair and move to the hall.

“What is going on out here?” Vernon boomed as he entered the hall.  “Who are you?”

The Stilton woman had, by this time, moved to the hall from the parlour.  “Mr. Vernon Edward Dursley?  I am Madame Mageara Stilton.  Could you please join us in the parlour?”

Vernon’s ice-blue eyes narrowed in suspicion and his mustache quivered with distaste.  “I want you out of _my HOUSE_.  Right.  NOW!”  Vernon bellowing meant that Vernon was _very_ angry, and Petunia was always nervous when Vernon was angry.  The neighbors might hear….

“I’m afraid, Mr. Dursley, that that will not be possible,” said Madame Stilton calmly.  “We are here to discuss the situation with your wife’s nephew, Harry Potter.  It would serve you well if you were to join us in the parlour.”

“What’s to discuss?” asked Vernon with venom in his voice.  “The little freak ran away.  He’s not our problem anymore.”

Petunia watched nervously as ice filled the woman’s gaze.  “Yes,” said Madame Stilton, “Harry Potter ran away.   And he found his way to me.  And that means there is very much a problem for you and your wife.  Now, come sit, and we can go over options for you that might keep you from serving a prison term for child abuse.” 

Vernon began to huff in annoyance, his face turning a purplish-red, and Petunia grabbed his arm and pulled him into the parlour and placed him in his favorite armchair.  “Prison!” he sputtered.  “How dare you threaten me!”

“Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,” said Ms. Forsythe softly—softly enough to force them to listen to her, “I should tell you that we have spoken to the neighbors.  We have also spoken to several of your nephew’s former teachers.  Also, some of the children in the neighborhood.  I’m fairly certain we have a good idea of what has been going on in this house for the past ten years.  Now would be a good time for you to try to defend yourselves.”

Petunia glanced at the window, imagining the gossip running around the neighborhood, house to house and house-wife to house-wife.  They were all out there, possibly talking about _her_!

“From all reports,” continued Ms. Forsythe, “Harry was under-weight and small for his age, pale and sickly-looking, as if he did not get enough fresh vegetables and sunshine, and he was always dressed in cast-off clothing that your own son out-grew.  To the contrary, your son, Dudley, has been described as ill-mannered and brutish, over-weight, and violent.”

The sound of a door opening and a gasp of outrage interrupted Ms. Forsythe’s speech, and all of the occupants of the room turned to see that Mr. Lancaster had managed to pick the lock on the cupboard and opened the door, and he was snapping photos on a small, disposable camera.  He turned to Vernon with a sneer of disgust on his face.  “The boy _slept_ here?  Was _locked in_ here?  For how long?”

“For always, until this summer.”  Dudley had, perhaps because of the opportunity to gain positive adult attention, forgotten temporarily about his pig’s tail and was now standing in the doorway from the kitchen.  “Then he got some letter in the mail from somewhere, and Dad and Mom moved him into my second bedroom.”

All of the adults turned to face Dudley, and he backed away from the intensity of some of the gazes—especially from the furious look his father was giving him.

Mr. Lancaster nodded abruptly and muttered “Second bedroom” before turning and heading up the stairs.

Vernon scrambled to his feet, yelling, “Wait one moment!  You can’t just….”

“But he can, Mr. Dursley,” said Madame Stilton calmly as she proffered a sheet of paper.  “We have a judicial decree, allowing us to search the premises.  Now, you might want to sit down.”

Vernon sat with a glare and Madame Stilton walked into the hall to guide Dudley back into the kitchen.

“Now,” continued Ms. Forsythe, “according to some of the children in the neighborhood, your son, Dudley seemed to concentrate his time and energy chasing and beating on Harry.  On the odd occasions when Harry was not out in public, Dudley and his friends,” she referred to her own clipboard, “Piers Polkiss, Dennis Harcombe, Gordon Grant, and Malcolm Ferris?  Yes, they all took turns terrorizing the other children in the neighborhood when Harry wasn’t available as a punching bag.  Now, you seem to be observant people, so why haven’t you ever noticed the cuts and bruises?”

Vernon merely glared.  Petunia’s gaze flittered between Vernon and Ms. Forsythe nervously.  She was vaguely aware that Dudley was in the company of Madame Stilton, but she was too upset to try and find out what they were talking about.  After a few moments of silence, interrupted only by murmurs coming from the kitchen, Mr. Lancaster re-appeared with his disposable camera and Madame Stilton returned to the parlour.  Dudley seems to have scampered upstairs to get away from the adults, and Petunia vowed to check on her precious son once the interlopers were gone.

“Now,” said Madame Stilton stiffly, “I can understand that you were not expecting to raise Harry.  In fact, the wills left by his parents indicate that he was never to have been left with you, since you seemed to have trouble dealing with certain…aspects…of his mother’s life.”

Petunia sniffed.  “I was older than Lily, you know?  Older by three years.  We really should not have been close, but we were.  Once she was old enough to talk, I was already in school, and she asked so many questions…was so eager to learn.  So she turned to me.  We never shared a room growing up, because of the age difference, so I never noticed anything…different…about her.  Except—once, when we were decorating our Christmas tree, Lily dropped one of my mother’s antique ornaments.  It was glass, and very fragile, and we were never permitted to handle it, but Lily picked it up and tried to place it on the tree—and she dropped it.  And it bounced.  I merely thought it was a lucky fall.

“When we were older, when Lily was nine and I was twelve, we met a boy at a play park near our home.  He was…poor; badly dressed and slightly dirty.  He saw Lily do something, I’m not sure what, but he approached and told her that he was just like her, and he would be going to a special school when he was old enough, and Lily wanted to go as well.  Every weekend, Lily would drag me to that park so she could meet with that boy.  I didn’t like him.  I didn’t like that Lily was drawn to him.”

Petunia sighed and slumped in her chair.  “When Lily was eleven, and I was fourteen, Lily got this letter in the mail from a special school.  Our parents were thrilled.  It was the letter that that terrible boy told her about, I just knew it, and I knew it would take my Lily away from me.  When that Flick-person came to the house to talk to our parents, I begged him to allow me to go as well, but he said I wasn’t…I was only ordinary and could not go.

“So Lily went away, and was gone for most of the year.  I wrote to her every two weeks, feeling slightly silly to use an owl, but I did it—and she wrote back and told me all about her classes.  I never understood a word of it, but I tried to be supportive.  But on school breaks, she was always with that boy, and she came bringing tales of spells she was learning and how wonderful it was for her—how she would never be ordinary.  When Lily was fifteen, she stopped talking about that boy.  I was in a secretarial program and was living away from the family home with a girlfriend, and Lily had nothing in common with me anymore.  By the time she was ready to leave that school, she had another beau and I was working in an office in Reading.  She married right away, but I could not attend the wedding.  Our parents were killed in an auto accident two years later and Lily was at the funeral, and two years after that, I met Vernon.  The next time I heard from Lily was four years later, when she had sent me a card congratulating me on Dudley’s birth, and was announcing the birth of her own son only one month after.  She was twenty-five years old and I was twenty-eight.”

Petunia’s eyes were dry when she looked at Madame Stilton.  “Do you want to know how I found out Lily was dead?  On Halloween of 1981, Vernon came home and asked me some odd questions about Lily, like if I had heard from her and what was her son’s name.  I thought nothing of it, really.  Early the next morning, after I got Dudley settled in his highchair, I went to the doorstep to collect the morning egg and milk delivery from the local dairy, just like every morning—only on that day, instead of milk and eggs there was a baby wrapped in a blanket on my doorstep.  He had been left, with a note, all night long.  When he opened his eyes, they were the same emerald green as Lily’s, so there was no mistaking that he was her child.  The fact that he did not freeze to death on the doorstep meant that he was just like her.  That is how I found out that my once-beloved sister was dead.  Not face-to-face, in a decent way.”

Vernon puffed out his chest and huffed.  “We took him in.  That was all we had to do.  I didn’t see any sense in spending my good-earned money on the boy when I had my own son to provide for.”

“ _Ahem_!  Yes, about that,” said Mr. Axesmith, speaking for the first time.  He was an odd, reedy looking man with thinning grey hair and wire-rimmed glasses, and Petunia wasn’t sure she wanted him in her home.  “It seems that you provide _very well_ for your own son.  In fact, I might observe that the boy was quite overweight, especially for a boy of eleven years.  I am concerned about the monetary issue, though, as you seem to think you would be hard-pressed to afford to care for Harry James Potter.”

Vernon squinted at the tiny man.  “We made do,” he growled.

Mr. Axesmith smirked.  “Yes, I’m sure you did.  Especially since there has been a direct deposit into your account at Barclay’s Bank, on the third day of each month, from the Potter Family Trust Account at Gringott’s Bank.”

“You took money to care for Lily’s child?”

“You mean that brat has more money?”

The Dursleys spoke at the same time; Petunia’s screeching voice almost drowning out Vernon’s incredulous boom.  Axesmith was almost happy to watch as Petunia castigated her husband for claiming that Harry had to ‘earn’ his keep in the Dursley house even as she allowed Dudley to be spoiled within an inch of his life, but he was more happy to deliver the killing blow to the argument.

“Mr. Dursley!  If you have not, in fact, been using the funds that were siphoned into your bank account for the care and feeding of Harry James Potter—and I assure you that we have interviewed the child in question and we are well aware that the money was not used on him—then Gringott’s has the duty to retrieve the money and return it to the Potter account.”

“WHAT?” Vernon blustered.  “You just can’t do that!”

Axesmith offered a feral grin that almost belied the glamour used to make him appear human.  “Oh, I assure you that I can, Mr. Dursley.  Since the transfer request was made by someone who had no authority to do so, the deposits were made in a fraudulent manner.  You have no right to that money, Mr. Dursley.  Gringott’s Bank has already moved to recover the full amount of £117,000 from the Barclay’s account.  The court orders have been processed and approved; consider it already done.”

Vernon stared apoplectically at Axesmith, too stunned to say anything.  Petunia, however, was overcome with rage.  She loomed over her large husband with hands on her boney hips.

“I can’t believe that you took money to care for Lily’s son, and then you refused to actually care for him!  I believed you when you said he was a burden on us!  Is that were the vacation money came from?  The money for Dudley’s birthday presents and trips?  For _Smeltings_?  You told me you were getting _bonuses_ at _work_!”

“Mrs. Dursley,” said Madame Stilton, interrupting a rather impressive dressing-down, “you need to calm yourself.  We’re not quite done here.”

Petunia turned to her and frowned deeper.  “What on earth could you have left to say?”

Madame Stilton quirked an eyebrow at the thin, horse-faced woman.  “Well, there is the fact that you not only abused and neglected your nephew, you have dangerously mistreated your own son.  That boy has been led to believe that bullying is fine and terrorizing younger children is a good way to pass the time.  He is grossly overweight, which can and will lead to early onset heart disease, and he has no sense of personal responsibility.”

Mr. Lancaster nodded.  “The nest under the stairs is at least well-kept if not sanitary or humane.  The second bedroom, however, is another story, as it is filled with broken and damaged toys and electronic devises.  Other than a made bed—obviously an attempt to keep tidy in there—the room looks like a dumping ground for unwanted things. There is even a racing bicycle in the corner with a bent wheel and broken steering column, which looks like damage that occurred when someone too large for the frame rode it and crashed.  You seem to have thrown money at your own son and left the nephew to drown in destitution, and that is unconscionable.”

Petunia’s legs went out from under her, and she sank back into her chair as the interlopers around her discussed her options for actually keeping her child, rather than surrendering him to the authorities.

**Harry’s Story—**

Harry sat comfortably in the leather chair in front of Bertie Porpington’s office desk.  Actually, there were several leather chairs positioned in a semi-circle in front of that desk, and they were all occupied: Emma Granger, Hermione Granger, Daniel Granger, and Bertie Porpington sat on the right side of the room, and Harry, Sirius Black, Neville Longbottom, Augusta Longbottom, Ragnok Sharptooth, and Cadmus (one of the very first Wilde Magicals, Hermione was pleased to know) sat on the left side of the room.  In the center of the room, in the middle of them all, was a low table covered with papers and a tea service.  Harry was sipping at a lovely lavender tea while Cadmus discussed possible topics for Harry, Neville, and Hermione to study while they were in the Temporal Chamber.

Obviously Hermione didn’t really need instruction on Lordship etiquette or estate management.  Harry and Neville would be Heads of their own Ancient and Noble Houses once they were out of school, so they—along with Sirius, really—needed to know how to run the estates and vote in the Wizengamot.  Harry had a non-magical Lordship to contend with as well, so he would need instruction on how to act in the House of Lords also.  Plus, Harry would need to undergo serious healing in the Temporal Chamber, so that was a factor.

“What I suggest, at the discretion of the legal guardians, of course,” said Cadmus, “is reviewing the topics available at Hogwarts and the instructors who teach them, since that is the school the children have agreed to attend.  Once we can evaluate the quality of classes available, then we can see if you will need to petition for special instruction or private tutors.  All Wizarding schools have options for Noble families to provide advanced or private training if the instructor is not satisfactory for any reason.”

Hermione pouted.  “That would let me out, then.  I’m not of a Noble House at all.”

“Actually,” said Bertie, “I was going to offer sponsorship to Hermione, with permission from her parents.  As I am currently acting as Harry’s Magical Guardian, it would be of no consequence to act as Hermione’s as well.  In that way, I could protect her rights in the Magical community until she gains her majority and is able to negotiate her own way in the world.  I would be able to answer questions that you and she have about the Magical World, and Hermione would become my legal Magical Ward and part of my Ancient and Noble House.  It would be an advantage for her, coming from a non-magical family.”

Emma and Daniel exchanged a long look before Emma responded.  “We’ve never spoiled Hermione, Bertie, but in this case I think any advantage she can get would be a good one.  It’s so kind of you to offer.”

Bertie merely shook his head.  “Nonsense!  This sort of thing should be done anyway.  In every other country in the world, the Magical Government has what is called an Outreach Office, and Outreach Officers are the ones to reach out to non-magical families that have magical children.  The first contact should occur after the first instance of accidental magic, usually when the child is between four and six years old.  Sponsorship is then offered, to make the transition easier for the family when it comes time for the child to attend full-time boarding school training.  Sometimes the family simply can’t deal with having a magical child and the child is removed from the family’s care—usually for the safety of the child.  I am merely offering what should have been offered to you by the British Ministry of Magic years ago.”

Daniel frowned.  “I wonder why the offer didn’t come.  Hermione started doing…things when she was three years old.  Do you mean that nobody noticed?”

Bertie looked questioningly at Cadmus.  “I’m not sure, Daniel.  When a Magical Community establishes a government, it is blessed with several contact points by Wilde Magic.  One of those contact points makes notice when a child performs accidental magic.  In the Italian and Belgian Ministries, there is a golden book that records the name of the child.  I’ve never seen the Outreach Contact Point in the British Ministry personally, as I’ve never had cause to visit the Department of Mysteries.”

“I believe we are getting off topic,” said Augusta Longbottom, dryly.  “We were discussing teachers and subjects at Hogwarts, were we not, and as a School Governor, I do believe I have an inside track on that topic.”

Bertie and Daniel chuckled in apology.  “You are right, of course, Lady Augusta.  Please, do tell us what the children will be facing in the coming term.”

Augusta produced a length of parchment and began to peruse the list.  “As first years, they will be limited to the basic curriculum, of course.  Even if a child is raised in a magical household, the Ministry prefers that he not practice any magic until age eleven, and only in a school environment.  That way, all students should be starting on the same level.”  Augusta shot a rather sardonic look at Bertie.  “Of course, you and I both know that certain families will be teaching their children practically from the cradle.  In any case, the core subjects are as follows:

Transfiguration with Professor Minerva McGonagall

Charms with Professor Filius Flitwick

Astronomy with Professor Aurora Sinestra

Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirinius Quirrell

Herbology with Professor Pomona Sprout

History of Magic with Professor Cuthbert Binns

Potions with Professor Severus Snape.”

Harry shot a panicked look at Sirius and asked, “That wouldn’t happen to be the same Severus that you and my dad bullied in school, would it?”

Sirius shrugged slightly.  “There can’t possibly be more than one Severus Snape, so I suppose it is.”

Harry grimaced.  “I think I’ll push Lordship Privilege and ask for private tuition in Potions, then.  Even if he’s evolved at all, there is no way he’ll look at me and treat me fairly.  Sirius said I’m almost an exact duplicate of my father.”

“With the exception of your eyes,” said Sirius.  “Those green eyes are pure Lily.”

“Well,” said Bertie, “I take complete exception at Cuthbert Binns teaching _anything_ , much less History.”

Augusta shot him a disapproving look.  “And why is that?”

Bertie looked unimpressed with her disapproval.  “Well, for one thing—he’s dead.  Has been for the last hundred years.  Good heavens, woman, that…person…taught me, and he taught utter tripe back then.  I doubt very much that time has changed him.”

Augusta’s eyebrows rose in surprise.  “He’s _dead_?  And he’s still teaching?  And what do you mean by ‘utter tripe’?”

Bertie felt all eyes on him as he choked down a finger sandwich.  “Well, I would assume as a School Governor that you would know about all of your teachers.  The Binns family ended with Cuthbert back in 1872, and it was a direct result of Wilde Magic removing the last of the Binns Family Magic due to corruption and underhandedness.  I did look up all of the facts while in the employ of the Order of Summerisle, as I was curious as to why a ghost would be teaching at all.”

There was a brief moment of silence before Emma broke it by shouting, “Don’t leave us hanging!  What caused all the trouble?”

Bertie shrugged.  “Why don’t we decide what to do about the children’s training before I go into sordid magical history?”

Augusta sniffed.  “That would be best.  Then you can tell me the tale, and I’ll find out why the Governors are paying a teaching salary to a ghost.”

Sirius leaned forward and said, “Well, I for one would like to see Harry given an in-depth introduction to Potions, as I agree that Snape might not teach him well or treat him impartially.  I’ll look into hiring a decent private teacher for Harry, so that his classes take place during the regular class period.  Neville and Hermione will, of course, be welcome to join him.  I would also like Harry to receive instruction in Magical History to the point that he can test out of his OWL level before term starts.”

“Um,” said Daniel cautiously, “what’s OWL level?”

Bertie brightened.  “Oh, you need to know about Wizarding Education levels!  I practically forgot!  As I told you, wizards have two Magical Maturities: one around age thirteen or fourteen and the last closer to seventeen.  Well, students are tested at each Maturation.  The OWLs are Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and they test how well a student retains lessons and base core power.  Once the OWLs are evaluated, the student can move forward with other electives based on how strong their magic is.  This will give the students the opportunity to prepare for future Mastery study, or apprentice-ships.  The grade levels are standard, of course: Outstanding, Exceeds Expectations, and Acceptable are passing grades, and Poor, Dreadful, and Troll are failing grades.  Basically, only magically strong students get the higher passing grades, as they are capable of maintaining magic in their bodies far better and easier than those with weak cores.

“After the second Maturation, students are tested at NEWT level, which means National Evaluation Wizarding Tests.  At NEWT level, students are tested for personal aptitude, and then they will know which Masteries will be best suited for them.  Not every witch or wizard goes for a Mastery or apprenticeship.  Some are better suited for careers in professional sports, or shop-keeping, or baking, or house-painting.  It’s all a personal choice, of course, but the OWL and NEWT tests show what the student might be capable of.”

Augusta nodded knowledgably.  “The students are required to take OWLs in the seven core subjects, which they take solely for the first three years.  At year three, students add electives if they so choose, from a larger variety of classes such as Numerology, Ancient Runes, Divination, Care of Magical Creatures, and Muggle Studies.  There are also Arts electives such as Magical Painting, Photography, Muggle Art, Music and Choir.  If a student takes electives in third year, then they are required to keep it until after OWLs in fifth year.  After OWLs, a student may drop any but the core classes unless they test out independently, and they may take another elective, but they must start at the third year level.”

Emma smiled at her daughter, who was squirming in her seat with excitement at the prospect of new classes.  “That all seems very sensible, with the classes and testing.  That may be the only part of this whole thing that I really understand.”

Sirius nodded.  “Yes, well, if the kiddos can test out of History of Magic at OWL level before term starts, then they won’t have to take a class at Hogwarts until the dreadful ghost is replaced.  I’m also of the opinion, and feel free to disagree, that the rest of the time in the Temporal Chamber should be spent on magical control.  They’re going to need it if they go through a forced Maturation.  And we might be able to get them to the point where they can perform wandless magic in some cases.”

Cadmus nodded as he wrote on a notepad.  “I think that can all be arranged.  I also discussed Harry’s talent with Lady Nimue, and she is certain that Parsel-tongue and Parsel-magic can be taught—with a few magical adjustments.  She would know the particulars, of course, as she was the First Parsel-Mage that Wilde Magic produced.  If,” he said, looking at Hermione and Neville, “the two of you are interested?”

Hermione and Neville cheered loudly.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

After the Grangers and Longbottoms left through the floo, Bertie and Cadmus told Harry and Sirius that they needed to have a Very Serious Talk.  Harry, who was used to Very Serious Talks, took that to mean that he was somehow in trouble.  He was very quiet when they gathered in Bertie’s private parlour, and Sirius was careful to sit close to him, to offer support.

“Look,” said Bertie, “once you get to Summerisle of the Deep, people who live there—Wilde Magicals and Order members—are going to be fascinated with you, Harry.  And the reason there is going to be fascination is because of a prophesy about you.”

Sirius frowned.  “Yeah, I remember Dumbledore telling us, James and Lily and me, about it, saying that was why they needed to go into hiding.  Something about the Dark Lord and Harry, I think.”

Bertie snorted.  Loudly.  “Oh, dear!  I think you have been mightily mislead, Sirius Black.  I’m not sure how Dumbledore found out about _that_ prophesy, but it’s certainly not the one I’m talking about.”

Harry sat up quickly.  “You mean there are two prophesies about me?”

“No,” said Bertie, “only the one.  Look, I’ll tell you about Dumbledore’s error first, so you can see how ridiculous it is.  But the _real_ prophesy, the one the Order is all aquiver over, should be taken very seriously, alright?”

Harry nodded.

Bertie sat back in his armchair and folded his hands together over his rotund belly.  “Right,” he said, “This is a bit of a history lesson, so don’t blame me if it’s boring.  Back in 1320, Great Britain was under the thrall of a vicious Dark Lord called Rambolt.”  Sirius sniggered, and Bertie shot him a glare.  “Don’t laugh.  Rambolt was a known child murderer, and he took great pleasure in skinning farm animals and leaving the bloody bodies in farmers’ doorways as a calling card.  He really was a terror back then, and the Aurors were up in arms trying to cut him down.

“Then came Ryelle Trelawney.  She wasn’t an Auror, but she did want freedom from Rambolt.  She was a Hedgewitch with a talent for obscure conjuring, and Rambolt dearly wanted her on his side.  He asked and cajoled and threatened, but Ryelle had children and she would do anything to keep them safe.  Ryelle was also a Seer.  The Trelawney family had many over the centuries.  Some were totally accurate, and some were hit-or-miss, but the most impressive were like Ryelle; she could create reality with prophesy.  Whatever she said, if she said it with intent, would come to pass.  One day, she stood on a hilltop and gave her finest prophesy:

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…_

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…_

_And the Dark Lord will mark his as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…_

_And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…_

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.”_

 

Sirius nodded and hugged Harry close.  “Yep, that was the prophesy Dumbledore told James and Lily.  I didn’t hear it, of course, but James told me before they went into hiding.”

Bertie smirked.  “Yes, well.  Ryelle Trelawney was born to an ancient family that turned Rambolt aside every chance they got—and they got three chances.  Rambolt found out about the prophesy, and he went after Ryelle.  There are no records as to what she did to him, but he practically _melted_ on shoreline.  It was his dying curse that lives on in record:  He told Ryelle that she was a worthy opponent, and was easily as strong as he, but her gift was at an end.  After he ‘marked her as his equal’, Rambolt declared that no other would ever profess as she did, and for as long as Trelawneys produced Seers, they would tell his story.  And so, ever since 1320, whenever a Seer is born into the Trelawney line, the first ‘prophesy’ they give is the story of Rambolt’s defeat.  Of course, Wilde Magic has a sense of humor, and somehow instead of mentioning the Great and Feared Rambolt, the Trelawney Seers just repeat Ryelle’s prophesy, word for word.”

Harry snorted this time.  “You’re right, that does seem silly.”  But then he sobered.  “It’s just sad that my parents were killed because of an inaccurate prophesy.  If everybody studied Magical History the right way, then maybe Dumbledore would not have made that mistake and my parents would still be alive.”

Bertie nodded in agreement.  “Since I joined the Order of Summerisle, studying history has been a true joy for me.  The library in Headquarters is awe-inspiring.  Young Hermione will be enthralled!”

“Hey!” said Harry, “I like reading, too!  And maybe you should tell me the really real prophesy that everybody will be going nuts over.”

“Very well, Harry.  First, tell me what you know about Arthurian Legend.”

“Um, not very much, actually.  I mean, I know a little about the Knights of the Round Table and the Sword in the Stone.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” said Bertie, “that is not much. Alright, in the legends, after Arthur died at the hand of Mordred, Merlin was cast in crystal and ice, only to return when Arthur is reborn.  In reality, Merlin was ‘born’ on Summerisle of the Deep, which used to be known as Atlantis, and he was the very First Wilde Magical in the world and he brought magic to the rest of the world.  Arthur was one of his first students, but he was ultimately defeated by his own illegitimate child.  When Arthur died, Merlin asked Nimue to shut him away in a crystal cave on Summerisle of the Deep so that he could await Arthur’s return.

“Several hundred years after Merlin was shut away, the Oracle at Delphi—who speaks only in Parsel-tongue, by the way—gave the prophesy that Nimue has waited centuries for _: Born from the Heir of Potter’s Field, Arthur shall rise into the World again._   Normally this would be cause for concern.”

“Why?” Harry asked, confused.

“Well,” said Bertie, “a ‘potter’s field’ is a plot of land, sometimes attached to a churchyard, where beggars and homeless people are buried if they can’t afford a proper plot inside the cemetery.  So, as all occupants of a potter’s field are dead, there can be no heir, and thus Arthur would never return.

“Then Fleamont Potter died and James, your father became the Potter Heir—and he should have become the Head of the House, but he never claimed the ring.  Apparently James thought the Potter name was dying, that the Potter magic was dying, so to bring new life to the name he renamed the center of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter—the central estate, which was named, since the beginning of the family, Potter Castle.  According to records in Order Headquarters, where such things are kept for posterity, James announced that castles are filled with memories of the dead, but new life is grown in fields, so he renamed the main estate Potter Field.  And you, Harry, are the first son of Potter Field.”

Harry’s eyes grew incredibly large.  “You think I’m Arthur reborn?”

“No,” Bertie laughed, “of course not.  But one of your heirs—could be your child, or your grandchild, or even your great-grandchild— _will_ be Arthur reborn.  All of the Order knows the prophesy, so they will be very happy to see you alive and healthy.  Of course Nimue has issued a blanket statement that you are not to be bothered while you are there, but I’m sure you will notice the passing glances while you are there.”

“So, no pressure to get married and have kids, yeah?”

“No, Harry, no pressure at all.  Your only job is to be a child.  You are to be healthy, you are to learn, you are to have fun, and you are to make friends.  It is, I hope, what your parents would have wanted for you.”

“It is, indeed,” said Sirius gravely.

 

**Gabriel’s Story (The Final Report)—**

_What started as an inquiry into a false imprisonment has led this investigator to request that the ICWW perform a No-Confidence Rout on the British Ministry of Magic.  While I have not discovered if the current Minister, Cornelius Fudge, is corrupt, he has made some unwise decisions since entering office.  The past Ministers, however, have done very little to advance the community of Magical Great Britain within the Magical World.  Minister Harold Minchum was responsible for increasing the Dementor population at Azkaban, which lowered any possibility for prisoner rehabilitation to nil.  Minister Millicent Bagnold, who is currently awaiting trial at ICWW Headquarters, was responsible for unofficially disbanding the Outreach Office at the British Ministry, instead pocketing the ‘salaries’ of Outreach Officers that no longer exist._

_The current Minister has been known to take financial ‘advice’ from known marked Death-eaters before making official decisions, which calls to question his real intentions for serving the people that voted for him._

_As to the matter of former Ministry Prosecutor Bartemius Crouch Sr., it was proven without a doubt that he willfully removed his Death-eater son from Azkaban and replaced him with his terminally ill wife, who was polyjuiced into the image of the son.  After the wife died in prison, Crouch kept the son under the Imperius Curse, trapping the man in his own mind, and keeping him in the care and control of a bullied House Elf.  The fact that he was willing to use a universally listed Unforgivable on his own son was deplorable enough, but he was also willing to mentally torture a House Elf, driving her to the brink of insanity and almost costing her her magic.  The only recommendation I have for Crouch, who has confessed to his crimes, is to place him in life-time confinement in a cell next to his Death-eater son, since the man was so intent on keeping the younger man close._

_Bartemius Crouch Jr. had already been tried for his crimes as a Death-eater, which included torture and murder several times over, and he was unrepentant about all of them.  While he has recovered from long-term exposure to the Imperius, he is totally insistent that his Dark Lord and Master, Voldemort, would one day return, and he was willing to do anything to see that come to fruition.  While exposure to Dementors is out of the question, as they are all being destroyed as this report is being read, I strongly recommend that this man never again see the light of day._

_Rufus Scrimgeour has confessed to accepting ill-gotten monies from Bagnold’s Outreach scam as well as turning away to Aurors using excessive force in the line of duty.  I recommend that he be stripped of duty as Head Auror for the British Ministry of Magic and that his pension be revoked, as he has managed to hide tens of thousands of Galleons from the Outreach scam and will give no indication as to where that money has gone.  Since we (the ICWW and Gringott’s International) have been able to reclaim all monies that Bagnold had skimmed from the organization, the money that Scrimgeour has taken may best be used in removing Scrimgeour from Great Britain completely.  I’m certain it will take no effort to get the man to agree._

_As always, I remain a loyal servant to the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards._


	11. Chapter Six, part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a bit carried away with Sirius Black, but then--wouldn't we all?  
> We're getting closer to Summerisle, so I had some business to finish up.

** Chapter Six: Story Time (part two) **

****

****

**The Black Family’s Story—**

Sirius Black was having the time of his life, and all he was doing was shopping.

Since the Grangers would be accompanying their daughter, Hermione, to the island of Summerisle of the Deep—and spending one week of their usual summer vacation there and in Greece—they had offered to take Harry, Sirius, and Neville Longbottom (and Lady Augusta, when available) around non-magical London and its environs for plain non-magical site-seeing for a week.  Visits to museums, zoos, and theaters were planned, as well as the regular tourist bus-tours for photo opportunities, and all of the invitees were thrilled with the plans; Harry because he never got to go anywhere while he was growing up, Sirius and Neville because they never had the chance before then to explore the non-magical world.  Lady Augusta promised to join them for the museum and theatre visits, but she was still Regent of House Longbottom and did have a household to run.  She made Neville promise to get one of the non-magical disposable cameras so he could take photographs of everything, and Hermione mentioned the idea of keeping a tourist journal so that he could make notes of what each photo was and where it was taken, so he could give his grandmother a virtual tour of the things she was missing.

So now here they all were, after having Galleons exchanged for Pound Notes, being led through a large shopping center called Harrod’s, as the Grangers showed Sirius and Neville what type of clothing would be appropriate for their ‘tourist week’ after recovering from interment in the Temporal Chamber.

_If only my family could see me now_ , Sirius thought with a laugh, drawing Harry’s attention.

“What’s so funny, Sirius?” the boy asked as he tossed a comfortable pair of jeans into the shopping cart.

“Hmm? Oh, I was just picturing how horrified my mother would be if she could see me now.”

Harry looked away from the shelves of jeans and t-shirts.  “Did she not like shopping?  Because I thought most women liked shopping.  Aunt Petunia sure did.”

Sirius held an ocean-blue shirt in front of him for approval, receiving ‘thumbs-up’ from Harry, Hermione, and Emma Granger.  “My mother did not like non-magicals.  At all.  So she would be horrified to see me here.  Actually, she would be horrified to _be_ here herself; she’d be resigned to see me here, and would tell everyone that she knew I would come to this disgrace.”

“Oh,” said Harry, slightly disappointed.  “You have never talked about your family.”

Sirius sighed and placed two more blue hued shirts in the cart (he had been assured by both Emma and Hermione that blue of any shade brought out his eyes).  He walked over to Harry and dropped to his knees in front of the dejected boy.  “Harry, let’s have fun now before we leave the Grangers and Longbottoms behind for a bit, and when we get back to Bertie’s home, I’ll tell you all about my horrible family. Deal?”

Harry nodded.  “Deal.”

Sirius stood and brushed dust from his pant legs.  “Now, what say you pick out some green and red shirts?  If I’ve got to bring out my eyes, then so do you!”

Lady Augusta Longbottom had proved to be surprisingly fashion forward, and she helped Harry and Neville choose many comfortably casual, but stylish and high-quality, outfits so they didn’t look less than the future Lords that they were.  Emma Granger, however, had to step in to assist in choosing clothing for the theatre, as even Augusta needed a non-magical theatre gown to wear that evening.

So shopping was good.  There was a lot of laughter, and a tiny bit of moaning (haircuts were mentioned, which made both Harry and Sirius cringe), and they were all slowly becoming almost a family.

A better family than the one Sirius grew up in.

 

Sirius knew Harry would hold him at his word, so he made a brief stop at Gringott’s before following Harry to Bertie’s manor.  Sirius was pleased with how at ease Harry was getting with magical travel.  He still stumbled a bit when landing from a Portkey, but he went easily through the Floo, and he told his tale of the Knight Bus so often that Hermione and Neville wanted to ride on it as well.  They were promised that they could take the Knight Bus home for Winter Break after school started, and Sirius made a side-remark to the Grangers to make certain they had an anti-nausea remedy readily available for after that trip.

One hour later, Sirius erupted through the Floo in the Receiving Room at Edgedale Manor, and Morrie the House Elf popped in to take Sirius’ travel cloak—which he did not have because it was August and very hot.  Morrie informed Sirius that ‘Master Harry’ was waiting for him in the solarium.  Sirius smiled and thanked the elf.  Harry had become, over the course of the last few days, quite enamored of the glass-encased room that overlooked the rear garden, and Sirius would find him there reading through the text books that we bought to go along with his school books.

Sirius leaned against the door jamb, watching his godson read for a few moments before crossing the threshold and joining him on the settee in front of the wide window.

“What are you reading, pup?”

Harry looked up and closed the book, showing the cover and title.  “It’s about Ancient and Noble Houses.  At least, I thought it was when I bought it.  I was hoping to learn more about my family, but this is just a listing of notable families in Britain and Europe.  It doesn’t give much more information than how much the family is worth.”

Sirius grunted.  “So basically, all you’ve learned is that you’re loaded, is that right?”

Harry sighed.  “I’d give it all away tomorrow if I could have my mother and father back.”

Sirius wrapped one arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulled him into a loose embrace.  “I know you would, pup.  I’d give away all of my wealth for the same reason, but it doesn’t work that way.”

Harry looked over his glasses at his godfather, and he was so much like James in that moment that Sirius’ heart hurt.  “You keep calling me ‘pup’, but you have never told me why.  I assume it’s not because my mother was a real bit….”

“No!  Don’t finish that sentence!  Lily was not all sunshine and rainbows all of the time, but I’d hardly call her anything but loving.  I call you ‘pup’ because of my animagus form.”

“What’s an animagus?”

Sirius moved his arm and stood away from the settee.  “An animagus is a witch or wizard that can transform into an animal of some sort at will.  Not every magical person can do it, because it takes a lot of magical strength and a very strong mind.  There have been cases of wizards getting stuck in their animal form, or getting stuck half-transformed, so they don’t really teach the method in schools until sixth or seventh year.  Your father and I taught ourselves rather young.”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise and delight.  “Really?  My dad could turn into an animal?  That is so cool!”

Sirius chuckled.  “Yeah, it was pretty cool.  We had a friend in school that was…different.  I’ll be honest, he was a werewolf, but he was kept under control each month.  But your dad and I didn’t like that Remus had to be locked away, alone, on the full moon nights.”

“Is that why you taught yourselves to change?” asked Harry.  “So you could keep your friend company?”

Sirius nodded.  “When Remus was transformed, his mind was more animal than human, so James and I figured that we wouldn’t be in any danger if we were animals, too.  So we taught ourselves how to do it.  It took about three years, but we had managed the transformations by fifth year.  We even managed to teach Peter how to do it, and he wasn’t the strongest wizard out there.”

Harry’s brow furrowed at the mention of Peter, the ‘friend’ who betrayed his parents and framed Sirius.  “What could you turn into?  Is it only one animal, or can you turn into any animal you want?”

Sirius chuckled.  “Well, becoming an animagus requires a lot of meditation, because your form—and there is only one—is found deep inside of your mind.  Basically it reflects your character, which,” said Sirius with a frown, “should have been a hint to us all, as Peter turned into a rat.”

“I don’t think so,” said Harry.  “We studied rats in science class last year.  They’re very family-oriented and clean and affectionate.  They’re supposed to be great pets.”

“Hmmm, I’ll have to take your word for it.  Anyway, James turned into a great stag, with a magnificent rack of antlers.  He’d have not looked out of place at a hunting lodge, so we steered clear of humans when we were transformed.  His nickname was Prongs.”

Harry grinned widely.  “That’s so cool!  Now what about you?”

Sirius slumped against the broad window and crossed his arms across his chest.  “Well, now, sometimes a wizard is so strong magically that his animagus form is a mythical creature, like a dragon or unicorn….”

“So you’re a dragon or unicorn?  That is really cool!”

Sirius sighed.  “Not all mythical or magical creatures are cool like that.  There’s a magical form called a Grim, which is a sort of dog that heralds death, like a bad omen.  And that’s what I turn into.”

Harry frowned, upset that Sirius might be ashamed of his form.  “Show me, right now.  I bet it’s fabulous!”

Sirius nodded and reached deep into himself to find the physical form that kept him safe and sane while in Azkaban and …he…changed.

From one moment to the next, Sirius went from tall, thin, and human to large, furry, and canine.  Thanks to the healing that he had already undergone, there were no more hairless patches and his Grim form was no longer gaunt.

Harry gave a happy gasp and shot off the settee to crouch next to Sirius, reaching out gently to touch his fur-covered flank.  “You’re a Newfie!”

Startled, Sirius transformed back into a human, and Sirius and Harry tumbled to the floor in a pile.  “What did you say, Harry?”

Harry giggled.  “You’re a Newfie, Sirius.  A Newfoundland dog.  One of the times I was at Mrs. Figg’s house, we watched a dog show.  Newfoundlands are spectacular!”

“Huh!  Your mother would call James ‘Dasher’ because of the deer thing and she thought she was being funny, but she called me ‘Newfie’ sometimes.  I thought it was a term of endearment.”

Harry shook his head.  “It might have been, but it’s definitely a dog breed.  I looked them up at the library after that day, because I had dreams of a big, black dog.  Newfoundlands are family friendly, very loyal, and they’re used for rescue when there’s a water emergency because they have thick fur that resists water and webbed toes for swimming.”

Sirius sat back and leaned against the window.  “What do you know about that!  All this time, I figured I was a Grim, and that people would be afraid if they saw me.”

Harry sighed.  “I’m pretty sure some therapist somewhere would say that you only felt that way because your family did a number on you.”

Sirius nodded gravely.  “My family did a number on the lot of us, Harry.  And I suppose that’s a good enough introduction to the Black Family.  Come back to the settee; I have a visual aid to help with the discussion.”

On the small coffee table in front of the settee, Sirius unrolled a large cloth covered with tiny, spidery writing in black, green, gold, and red inks.  There were lines connecting some names, and the edges were shimmery, like heat on pavement.

“This,” said Sirius, “is the Black Family Tree.  The real, official one, that is.  There is a wall in my old family home that is covered with a Family Tree tapestry, and my dear mother has blasted several of the names right off of it—mine included.  Before I delve into the bad stuff, I would like to direct your attention to this name.”

Sirius pointed, and Harry leaned forward to read _Dorea Black_ , written in black but outlined in green, attached by a slanted line to _Charlus Potter_.

“That is a distant cousin of mine, from a secondary Black line, who married into the Potter family by way of Charlus.  If I remember my history right,  James, your father, was the son of Fleamont, who was the son of Henry and Ismelda Fleamont-Potter.  Charlus Potter was Henry’s younger brother.”

“So we’re sort of cousins?” asked Harry.

“Yes, we’re sort of cousins.  Charlus was a dear friend to my grandfather, Arcturus, and when Dorea expressed an interest in Charlus, Arcturus laid down the family law and allowed the marriage to go forth.  If you look way over here, you can see that Callidora Black married into the Longbottom family, so I’m sort of cousins with Neville as well.”

Harry nodded and quietly perused the parchment, tracing lines with his finger and mouthing the names.  “Why are some of the names in gold?”

Sirius cleared his throat, which accidentally summoned a house elf bearing a tray of lemonade and lemon biscuits.  He nodded silent thanks and sipped from a frosty glass before speaking.  “As you can see, there are a lot of Blacks.  And if you look closely, several Blacks have married back into the Black family, because for some reason, inbreeding is a thing wizards do.  The names in gold are the Primacy Heads; um, they are the Heads of the Heads of House.  If we trace back only four generations, there was Sirius, who had one son, Sirius II, and he had three sons.  So Sirius II passed the Primacy onto his oldest boy, Arcturus.  Now, along the Primacy Line, there are mostly Light wizards.  They followed closely to Merlin’s Rule: Keep the Magic Pure.  In fact, the Black Family Motto is _Toujours Pur_ , which means ‘Always Pure’.

“But somewhere along the secondary line, a darkness settled into the Family Magic.  A lot of those people listed there went completely batshit insane from all of the darkness.  They tortured their spouses or children, they caused the land that stood under the manor homes to become infertile.  Hell, I think some of Elladora’s children tortured non-magical children while they were in school.  They started acting like _Toujours Pur_ meant that they had to interbreed with other so-called pureblood families, so that the bloodlines were free from non-magical influences.”

Sirius pulled away from the parchment and nibbled on a biscuit for a moment.  “My mother, Walburga, is the daughter of Pollux Black, who was the son of Cygnus Black, who was brother to Sirius II.  Her brother, Cygnus II wed Druella Rosier, and they had three daughters.  My brother, Regulus, and I were practically raised with those girls.  But my mother was infected with that darkness, and so was her brother.  Basically, we children never really had a chance.”

“But you got out, right?  I mean, you aren’t like that, are you?”  Harry chewed on his lower lip in trepidation.

“Well,” said Sirius finally, “I had a bit of an advantage.  You see, when my mother began to poison my father, my grandfather took me away to teach me the family history.  I was three years older than Regulus, so he had to stay with our parents.  I think I was eight at the time.  Arcturus made me his Heir, because he could see how much influence my mother had over my father, and he knew my father would be a horrible Primacy Head for Black and would likely drive our entire family into darkness, ending it forever.  By the time I returned home, I was ten years old and was wearing the Heir Ring with an invisibility charm on it.  I also became the target of my mother’s incredible ire, and she would beat me for any infraction.  The Heir Ring protected me from the worst of it.”

Harry gently rubbed the two Heir rings on his right hand and pondered that for a moment.  If he had had those rings while living with the Dursleys, might he have survived better?

“Then,” continued Sirius, “I went to Hogwarts and had the audacity to be sorted into Gryffindor House instead of Slytherin House like the rest of the family since way back in history, and my only refuge from my mother’s wrath was school.  I made friends with James and Remus, and Peter tagged along so we let him, and I suppose James told his parents about me at some point.  When I was fifteen years old, Charlus Potter told Arcturus that I was leaving ‘that insane asylum his son called home’ and moving in with Fleamont and Miranda, so when school let out for the summer, that’s what I did.  I lived with James’ family until graduation, and then James and I got a flat together while we attended the ICWW Auror Academy in Brussels.  We were there for a year when James and Lily got married, and then I lived alone for the next year at the Academy.  After our two years at the Academy, we came back to Britain for the Ministry Auror training for one year, and your mother finished her Charms Mastery.  Lily wanted to apprentice for a year or two before moving on to the Department of Mysteries, so they had a flat near the Ministry in London.  Your mother became pregnant with you after working in the DOM for two years, and then I suppose you have a good idea about the rest.”

Harry frowned into his lemonade.  “But you left your brother behind, Sirius.  Didn’t you love him?”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly and ran an open hand down his face.  “Oh, Harry, I loved Reg more than anything.  But once Arcturus made me his supposed favorite, my mother pulled Regulus into her dark influence.  She gave him a house elf as a pet, named him Kreacher to keep him humble, and punished him to keep Regulus under control.  By the time Regulus was old enough to attend Hogwarts, he would have done anything to protect Kreacher because he didn’t know that what our mother was doing would have broken the elf’s magic and drove him insane.  He just went along with all of her plans because he wanted to keep his pet house elf safe.  By the time I was in Brussels training to be an Auror, my fifteen-year-old brother was being branded with Voldemort’s Dark Mark, declaring him to be a life-long follower of the latest Dark Lord.  Regulus died in the Dark Lord’s service when he was only twenty-years old.  I heard from Arcturus that my mother went completely insane after that. Since she murdered my father with an accidentally poisoned soup when I was still at Hogwarts, I really wasn’t sure how much worse it could have gotten, but I haven’t been in that house since I came back to Britain.  I know my mother died before I went into prison, so I’ll have to go back at some point, if only to clean it out.”

“That sounds like no fun at all,” said Harry around a biscuit.  “It must be full of cobwebs and dust piles.”

“No,” said Sirius seriously, “it must be full of dark artifacts and illegal items.  I’ll have to go to Grimmauld Place and Black Manor after we return from Summerisle.  I want to make sure you’re safely out of the line of fire if anything explodes.”

Sirius watched as Harry began tracing lines on the Black Family Tree again.  Sirius knew there were tasks that he had to undertake just to bring the Black Family back to the side of Light, and he was not looking forward to them.  He glanced at the line showing his cousins, Andromeda, Narcissa, and Bellatrix.  Andy was his favorite of all the cousins; a young lady who defied her parents to marry for love and was disinherited because of it.  She had a daughter that Sirius hadn’t seen since she was six years old, and Sirius felt the absence from his life strongly.  Bellatrix was a long-lost cause, having given her life up to the Dark Lord long ago, and Narcissa married Andromeda’s cast-off, a pure-blood aristocrat that Andromeda did not want but that Narcissa loved beyond all belief.

That was the blood family that Sirius had left.  He was scheduled to leave for Summerisle on August 13th, which was in three days.  There might be a way for Sirius to get a start on fixing his family before he left.  Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder and warned him that Bertie would be home for dinner in half an hour, and then he made his way to the owl perch on the back veranda.  He had several messages to send and a conference room to reserve.

 

@@@

 

Narcissa Malfoy stepped into the cool interior of Gringott’s Bank, ignoring the doorman and all of the people that turned to stare at her.  She was a beautiful ice queen, and she was well aware of how people saw her: blonde, expensively dressed, well coiffed.  She rarely smiled because she didn’t want to wrinkle her skin and she rarely appeared in public with her son because she didn’t want people to know she had a child old enough to attend Hogwarts.  Of course, she wasn’t cold to her boy, but outward expressions of emotion were not the Malfoy way.  It was simply enough that she kept Draco close to home despite her husband’s desire to see him educated abroad.

Narcissa allowed her eyes to drift slightly around the lobby, searching for a clue as to who called her into a meeting.  The missive simply read ‘Black Family Business’ and ‘conference room 4 in Gringott’s Bank at 12pm’.  The door to conference room 4 was down a long hallway, and appeared to be closed, but then Narcissa was forty minutes early.  Narcissa strolled toward the door casually, never appearing to rush.  She saw nothing impeding her progress, and was waiting for nobody to join her, so she opened the heavy ironwood door and stepped inside.

The room was decorated tastefully, with a polished oak table and tapestry-covered chairs.  There was a dark marble-lined fireplace in the corner, purely for decoration and warmth as it was not large enough for a Floo connection.  On the table was a tray with a full tea service in silver with porcelain cups and saucers in a delicate Blue Willow design.  There was also a crystal decanter for firewhiskey and cut crystal goblets.  The low-hanging chandelier was lit with silver candles in a mithral base.  There was no window, of course, but there was a shelf holding framed coins along the far wall.  The only other artwork was a few framed landscapes on a short wall, but the landscapes were unlike anything Narcissa had ever seen before, so she figured they were of some Goblin enclave or other.

Narcissa chose a chair along the far side of the table so that she faced the door.  She wanted the short moment of advantage of being able to see who else was coming to the meeting before they saw her.  It was a lesson she learned from Lucius.  She sat alone for only a few moments before the door opened again, and in walked someone Narcissa had not seen in person in too many years.  She almost broke the ice-queen mould and stood at the entrance. 

“Andy?  It is really you?”

The woman who entered was…not at all stunning.  Her dark blonde hair was styled up in a messy twist and she wore tortoise-shell glasses perched above the ridge of her aristocratic nose.  She wore pale pink lip-tint but no other make-up, and her day dress was pale green with a thin blue stripe—but she was definitely not wearing robes, as certainly befit a witch of any standing.  She turned to Narcissa and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Narcissa?  How…nice to see you again.”

The other woman, Andromeda Black Tonks, stepped back into the hall and called out to someone Narcissa could not see before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table, leaving the door open.  Another moment later, a willowy teenage girl walked through the door and tripped on the threshold, almost falling on her face before she caught herself on the edge of the table.

“Sorry, mum,” the girl mumbled before righting herself and closing the door.  “Are you sure it’s okay if I’m here?”

“Of course, Nymphadora.  You are, after all, the daughter of a Black.”  Andromeda pulled a chair out for her daughter and indicated Narcissa from across the table.  “This is your Aunt Narcissa.  She’s married to Lucius Malfoy, and I think she has a child?”  Andromeda looked questioningly at Narcissa.

“Yes,” replied Narcissa, “my son, Draco, will be starting at Hogwarts on September first this year.  It’s very nice to meet you.”

The girl raised both eyebrows in disbelief.  “I bet it’s not,” she said quietly.

Narcissa shot her a look of surprise before addressing her sister again.  “I’m sorry we had to go so long before seeing each other, Andy.  But I hope the letters kept me close to your heart, as they kept you close to mine when I wrote them.”

“Letters?  What letters?” asked Andromeda over the top of her glasses, like an old-fashioned school marm. 

“Why, the letters I sent you every month, and the special gifts on Yule and your birthday?  Andromeda, I wrote you every week since you married and moved out.”

“Narcissa,” said Andromeda slowly, “I never received any letters from you.  Ever.  I got kicked out of the family, and you married the man Father wanted for me, and I haven’t heard from you since.”

Before Narcissa could respond, Sirius Black entered the room and said, “Well, that’s part of the reason we’re all here today.”

“Sirius!”

“Cousin Paddy!”

Andromeda and Nymphadora both shouted in greeting, standing and throwing themselves at the man to give hugs.

Narcissa stayed in her seat, shocked both at the sight of Sirius Black standing before her and the conviction in her sister’s voice when she denied receiving any contact from Narcissa.

The tall, dark man looked over at her, sitting so still on the far side of the table.  “Hello, cousin.  You’re looking well.”

“So are you, Sirius, despite your former unfortunate circumstances.”

Sirius offered her a bright smile in response before taking a seat at the head of the table.  “If you don’t mind, Narcissa, I’d like to start this meeting dealing with Andromeda first.  There are issues that concern her but do not concern you right now.”

“Should I leave and come back at a later time, then?”

“No,” said Sirius, “I don’t think so.  You should really hear what I have to say, even if it’s to do directly with Andromeda.  Actually, I think I’ll start with the other living Black daughter.  Bellatrix Black LeStrange is currently in Azkaban Prison, as we all know.  She was insane before she was interred, due to the Family magic turning on her.  She grew more insane due to her involvement with the Dark Lord Voldemort and the tortures she performed.  If she hasn’t died yet in Azkaban—and she very well could have without anyone being notified—then she will be completely lost.  Merlin’s Rule was ‘Keep the Magic Pure’.  The Black Family Motto has always been _Toujours Pur_ , which means ‘Always Pure’.  Now, I’m not sure when a rule to keep magic free from corruption got mis-translated into ‘Purebloods-Rule-Even-If-They’re-Corrupt’, but there it is.  The strongest Magicals in our family have always been the ones who did not use their magic against others, and Bellatrix is a prime example of what not to do.  Because of that, I have removed her formally from the Black Family.  The bride-price paid to the LeStranges has been revoked by Gringott’s and been replaced in the Black Legacy Vault.  Since I hold Primacy over the Blacks, I have arranged to seize the LeStrange Vaults since they proved to be a dangerous influence on the Blacks and ultimately led Bellatrix down a fatal path.”

Sirius turned to Andromeda and Nymphadora.  “I haven’t seen you, little girl, since you were six years old.  I’m so sorry that I missed you grow up into such a lovely lady.  Now, I know you’re in seventh year at Hogwarts, but what do you want to do after school is over?”

Nymphadora blushed prettily and said, “I’d like to be an Auror, like you were.  I’ve already applied to the Ministry Auror Academy, and I’ve been tentatively accepted pending results of my NEWTs.”

Sirius beamed at the girl.  “That’s great news, Dorrie!  But might I make a small suggestion?”  When his cousin nodded, Sirius said, “The Ministry Auror training might be a paid training, and you could learn a lot, I went to the ICWW Auror Academy.  You have to pay to attend, but the training is incredibly serious and intense, and once you graduate you will be qualified to move on to work as an Auror in any country in the world.  There are other careers available to an ICWW trained Auror, such as Special Investigator or Hit Witch.  As a Daughter of House Black, you are entitled to a Bride Price and an Educational Fund.  As I am in process of bringing your mother back into the family, that means you are coming, too.”

Nymphadora beamed at him while Andromeda gasped in shock.

“Now, Andromeda, as a newly re-instated Daughter of the House of Black, I am giving to you your Bride Price and any other privileges that were stripped from you when your parents cast you out without permission from the Head of the House of Black.  Arcturus was working on bringing you back, Andy.  It was his last wish before he died.  I know you’re happy with your career as a healer, and in your marriage to Ted.  I know you don’t really _need_ the Black family, but I think the Black family needs _you_.  I need to bring that kind of happy back to the family tree to combat some of the batshit crazy that we have going on now.  I have a godson that I’ll be taking custody of soon, and he’ll need a positive female role model in his life.”

Andromeda squealed and launched herself into Sirius’ arms for a hard hug, followed closely by Nymphadora.

Narcissa was happy for them.  Really, she was.  She just felt so…outside of it all.

Once Andromeda and Nymphadora were back in their seats, Sirius turned his attention to Narcissa, who put on a brave front.

“Narcissa,” said Sirius gravely, “I hope you aren’t offended if I ask you to show your arm, please.  I know Bellatrix was marked, as she seemed extremely proud of it.  I also know that your husband is marked.  I know he said he was _Imperiused_ into taking the Dark Mark, but I’m not actually stupid and I know what goes into taking that mark.  You have to kill an innocent.  You have to horribly kill an innocent, and you have to pull from your magical core to do it, and there is no way in hell that you can be _Imperiused_ to do that.  So, please, show your arm.”

It took all of Narcissa’s dignity to simply stand and pull back the full sleeves of her robes, uncovering both of her forearms and showing them to everyone in the room.  If she was shaking while she did so, nobody commented.  Once Sirius had carefully examined her arms for any concealing charms or make-up, she pulled down her sleeves and sat again.

“I was heart-broken when Father announced that Andromeda, as the eldest daughter, was contracted to marry Lucius Malfoy.  I had been in love with Lucius since I was fourteen years old, but Father’s word was law.”  Narcissa’s façade was slipping, and Sirius discretely slipped her a cup of hot tea.  “Then Andy fell in love with a muggle-born boy from school, and she ran away to get married right after taking her final NEWT, and I was heartbroken again.  She was my older sister, and I wanted more than anything for her to be my best friend forever.”

Narcissa turned tear-filled eyes to her long-lost sister.  “I was horrified when Father declared that you were no longer a Black, and that we should never talk about you again.  Then he turned around and said that the marriage contract with Lucius Malfoy was still in effect, and that I would take your place as bride.  It was a mixed blessing for me, because of my love for Lucius, but you were gone!  I was getting married, and you weren’t going to be there to help me!  I wrote to you, Andy, I swear it!  Every week, in order to tell you what was going on in my life.  I sent small gifts at Yule and on your birthday; things that could be carried by owl post.  And I built up a huge network of friends that could tell me about you and your family.  I understood that you could never contact me, but I did keep up with your life.  I was so happy when you had your daughter, but something tells me you didn’t get my baby gift, either.”

Andromeda shook her head.  “Honestly, Cissy, I would have welcomed any word from you over the years, but I received nothing.  I swear it!  I’ve missed you as well, and I had hoped that you would be as happy in your marriage that I am in mine.”

Narcissa offered a small smile.  “We’ve been well, thank you.  But Lucius wasn’t marked when we married, and I had no idea that he was going to take the Mark.  I lived in fear for ten years after that happened.  I was so terrified that I spent my entire pregnancy in Spain with friends who were not involved with the Dark Lord, and I didn’t return until the Dark Lord was vanquished and Lucius survived his trial.  It has been difficult, but we have been frantically rebuilding the Malfoy reputation.”

Sirius regarded his cousin with a jaundiced eye.  She seemed healthy and sound of mind, but there were potions that would leave no detectable trace.  Narcissa actually seemed nervous to be there, and Sirius figured that that was because Sirius had declared Primacy and could, legally, declare her marriage to be null and void if it proved to be damaging to the Black Family name, even if Narcissa was part of the secondary Line.

But Sirius had been poking about in the Ministry since he had ‘been released’ from Azkaban, and there were whispers there, among the so-called former Death-Eaters, that mentioned a possible return of the Dark Lord; they some-how figured that, since a body was never found after the Potter attack, Voldemort had somehow managed to achieve immortality and would return to rule over Great Britain once again (not that he actually ruled at all the first time).  Lucius Malfoy was once rumored to be Voldemort’s Right Hand; the silent financial supporter that brought about many of the terrors that Voldemort wrought upon the magical people of Wizarding Britain, so if Voldemort was actually set to return to wreak havoc once again, Malfoy would be the one to know the details of it.

“How are things at home, Narcissa?” Sirius asked after a while.  “Are you settled alright; everything without stress?”

Narcissa visibly started.  “Of…of course, Sirius.  We’re getting ready for Draco to leave for Hogwarts, of course, so there is that small amount of stress.  Lucius wanted to send Draco to Durmstrang, but I wanted to keep him close to home.  There will be time enough after graduation for Draco to travel the world and look into additional schooling.”

“Now why,” Sirius wondered out loud, “would Lucius want to send his heir so far away for school?  Is something going to be happening at Hogwarts?  I know Lucius was a school governor a while back; is he still?”

Narcissa frowned.  “Yes, he’s still on the Hogwarts’ Board of Governors, but he rarely talks about any of his business dealings.  I don’t think there is anything about to happen this term.  Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering out loud, Narcissa; nothing more than that.  So you are happy, then?”

Narcissa smiled tremulously.  “I’m well enough.  Lucius has been a bit…distant, lately.  I think there are some shake-ups at the Ministry that have him upset, but he doesn’t ….”

“Talk about his business dealings,” finished Sirius.  “Yes, so you said.  Narcissa, I’ll be honest with you here.  You and I were never really close, and I do blame myself.  I felt closer to Andromeda despite our age difference, and that was mostly because she actually escaped the family insanity.  Wilde Magic was not kind to the Black House once certain factions went Dark, and as the last generation we had to bear the brunt of it all.  I came here with a goal to re-unify the Black Family as best I could under tragic circumstances.  When I last saw Andy and her family, they were all healthy and happy, and they seem to be the same.  I hadn’t seen you since before you married because Lucius was often on the opposite side of Light from me.”  Narcissa opened her mouth to respond, but Sirius held out a hand to stall her.  “I’m not saying that he was totally Dark back then, but he was leaning toward the Dark Lord’s service, and ultimately he fell in with it.  Ultimately, the Dark Lord fell and Lucius claimed that he was tricked into service and he avoided a prison sentence.  I, on the other hand, was actually framed and was sent to prison without a trial, which should have been a clear indication that I should have been believe innocent until proven otherwise.  Yes, I am a bit bitter about all of that, but I’m not here to punish you for what happened to me.

“I see that you seem to be healthy and happy, and I am glad for it.  So I will support you and your marriage for now.  But, and think long and hard on this Narcissa, if there is any indication that Voldemort is not long gone, and I find out that your husband is trying to bring his Darkness back into the world, I shall rule in Primacy and I will end your marriage and send you into the care of the mind-healers that should obviously need.  What I would do about your child, I have no idea.  It may become clear that Lucius has been telling your boy that the Dark Lord is the future of Britain, and if he has been hearing this his entire life, he may require reprogramming as well.  I’m not saying this to be cruel, Narcissa, but to warn you now that your well-being is of my highest concern.”

Narcissa was pale, and her hands were shaking a tiny bit, but she nodded to show that she understood.  “I appreciate your trust, Sirius.  I hope I shall continue to have it.”

Sirius offered a hopeful smile.  “I hope so, too, Narcissa.  Now, since you are all here, and you have not spoken in many years, why not take some time and reacquaint with each other?  As I recall, you were once very close.  Also, I will be away for the next few weeks, but once I return, I’ll try to find the answer to the question of the undelivered letters, alright?  I hate to think that Narcissa actually braved the family’s disapproval to keep in touch, only to have her efforts blocked without her knowledge.”

Narcissa’s smile brightened.  “I should be very appreciative, Sirius, thank you.”

Sirius stood and offered hugs to his cousins.  All three accepted.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Sirius said as he headed for the door, “I have another important appointment in another part of the bank.”

**Arthur’s Story—**

Arthur Weasley considered himself a law-abiding citizen.

His home was paid for, on land that was the last part of the Ancient Weasley Estate in Ottery St. Catchpole.  He didn’t build up debt if he could help it, and he and his family were able to sustainably supply much of their own food supply with a small-but-smart garden, a healthy henhouse, and a well-stocked fish pond.  He spent frugally, and his children might not ever have been spoiled but they never went without the necessities.  Sure, hand-me-downs were a necessary evil, but the children never complained.  Loudly.  Much.

Arthur was happily, if not profitably, employed in a position within the Ministry, and he was incredibly proud of his two oldest sons, who had satisfying (if not lucrative) careers of their own; one as a Curse-breaker for Gringott’s and the other in a dragon preserve in Romania.  Certainly he would like to see the boys more often, but if they were happy, then he was happy.  (He could ignore his wife’s grumbling about chicks out of the nest as much as he needed to, and when he couldn’t, he retreated to his shed.)

So Arthur was reasonably concerned when he received an official Summons to appear at Gringott’s Bank in London, to be heard about a possible infraction with a legal document.  Arthur signed so few contracts (mostly employment and salary negotiations) that he kept notarized copies in a special safe hidden in his shed, where nobody would know or care to look, and Arthur didn’t remember signing anything recently that could be called into question.  Arthur told his supervisor, Mr. Perkins (there were only two of them in the Office of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts) that he would need to take a long lunch, and might not be able to return at all that day.  Perkins merely grunted in response, and Arthur left the office.  (It was quite possible that Perkins was asleep, but it was not Arthur’s place to question his supervisor.)

Arthur entered the bank nervously and approached a teller window, asking for direction to Axesmith’s office.  Once directed, Arthur paused to brush imaginary lint from his suit coat before knocking on the heavy door and waiting to be called in.  When he was called for admission, Arthur opened the door and stepped in quickly, closing the door behind him.

Arthur saw that the office was occupied by, besides the goblin sitting behind the impressive desk, a rather rotund older man in a smart dark grey suit, a broad-chested younger man with short, wavy black hair and an official-looking uniform robe, and a thin smartly-dressed man with long black hair pulled back in a leather thong.  Arthur immediately recognized both of the younger men.  The first he did not know the name of, but had seen buzzing about the Ministry, causing a bit of stress over the past week or so.  The second, however….

“Sirius Black!  I had heard you were released!  It’s good to see you out and about!”

Sirius nodded in greeting.  “Arthur.  I do hope you are well?”

“Well enough,” Arthur replied as he inched further into the office.  “I admit to being confused about why I’m here, however.”

“Please sit, Mr. Weasley,” said Axesmith coolly.  “Before we get to the reason for your summons, there are things we must discuss.”

Arthur took a seat in a wood and leather chair in front of the others, feeling a bit as if he were on trial.  Before he could ask, Axesmith said, “This is Special Investigator Gabriel Manzini, of the ICWW, and Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington.  Lord Porpington is sponsoring Lord Black’s return to Wizarding Society, and acting as Magical Guardian to Lord Black’s godson.”

“Oh,” said Arthur lamely.  “It’s, er, nice to meet both of you.”

“Mr. Weasley,” said Manzini crisply, “might I be a bit forward with you?  I should like to inquire as to your satisfaction with your current employment.”

Arthur brightened a bit.  “Oh, well, I actually love my job.  I work in the Office of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts, so I’m often investigating cases of cursed objects let loose in the muggle world.  It’s a nasty business, that; wizards doing all of that muggle-baiting like they aren’t actually people and all.”

“Yes indeed, it is a nasty business.  And you are happy with that position?”

Arthur nodded.  “I’m the junior in the office, but Perkins, my supervisor, may be retiring soon, and I hope to take his position.  To be honest, I think Perkins is only staying in the office until he meets the twenty-year requirement for retirement, as he rarely leaves the office on official calls anymore.”

“I see,” said Manzini.  “And did you ever aspire to work in any other area?”

Arthur hummed for a moment, thinking hard.  “Well, I have been constantly trying to get into the Outreach Office.  I’ve sent in application papers at the beginning of each fiscal year since I began working with the Ministry thirty years ago.  Nobby Leach was Minister back then, and Millicent Bagnold was head of the Outreach Office.  She seemed to have a full office back then, but I had hoped that some of the Outreach Officers would retire at some point.  But I keep getting told that they are not looking for new employees at this time.  I suppose I’ll just have to keep trying,” Arthur shrugged.

“And why do you want so badly to work with the Outreach Office, Mr. Weasley?”

“Oh, well, my wife would tell you that I’m a bit obsessed, but I am quite fascinated with muggles.  I think it’s wonderful how they have found ways of doing the most amazing things without magic, and I’d really like the opportunity to learn all about that.  And I know the Outreach Office is really charged with introducing the magical world to muggle-born witches and wizards, but I never thought it should only be a one-way exchange.  Besides, it should be a great honor to bring a muggle-born wizard into our world.”

Manzini’s mouth formed a feral grin, and Arthur felt rather like an animal in a trap.  “Mr. Weasley, you may be happy to learn that the ICWW is currently forcing a re-ordering of the British Ministry of Magic, and the Outreach Office is one of the areas on the list.  I could find a way to bringing you into that Office, if you comply with the mandatory training requirement—and if you answer very clearly and honestly the questions we put to you today about a contract that is held here at the bank.”

Arthur felt elation, followed by confusion.  “Well, I’ll be happy to comply with any training you will require of me, if it means getting a better position in a better office, but I honestly don’t remember signing any contracts lately.”

“The contract in question,” said Axesmith cuttingly, “was signed five years ago.”

Arthur’s eyes widened in shock.  “Well, um, five years ago…hmmm, the only contract I remember signing was my salary negotiation.  I have to sign one of those every two years, with an evaluation every six months that may or may not result in a salary rise.  Did I not sign it correctly back then?”

“Mr. Weasley, how strong is your Family Magic?”  The question from Manzini was quite unexpected.

“Um, I expect it is strong enough.  I have a rather unconventional home, and the Family Magic holds it together rather well.  Why do you ask?”

Manzini quirked an eyebrow at the thin, balding man sitting in the ‘hot seat’.  “And you have not given-over the Family Magic to another, junior or subordinate family member, even temporarily?  You have given no permission for anyone to enter into a contract in the Weasley Name?”

“Oh!” Arthur startled.  “No!  Of course not!  Why ever should I do that?  My oldest sons are working out on their own, and have mostly removed themselves from the Family Magic, and the rest of the children are school-aged.  My wife stays at home and is happy there, but she has her own heritage to fall back on if she wanted a career of her own.  Molly was trained as a medi-witch before we married, and I’ve never once tried to hold her back.”

Axesmith unrolled a long piece of parchment with an official-looking seal at the bottom of it.  “This is the contract in question, Mr. Weasley.  Would you care to look it over?”

Arthur gulped before saying, “Yes, if you please.”   He leaned forward and took the contract in hand and began to read.  Half-way down the long page, Arthur began to frown.  “A marriage contract for Ginny!  I would never!  I firmly believe that my children should be able to marry for love!”

By the time he reached the end, Arthur was furious.

“This!...This!...this is horrible!  This says they want to bind this poor boy into servitude!  Whoever wrote this contract should be drawn and quartered!  Gifting half of someone’s fortune to the bride’s family just for the privilege of marrying the boy.  Forcing him to give over his Family Magic to his wife after children are born.”  Arthur’s red face lifted from the parchment and he scowled at Axesmith.  “I do hope you don’ think _I_ would do such a thing!”

Axesmith folded his hands together on top of his desk.  “The signature at the bottom of the page, listed under Bride’s Guardian, appears to be yours, but we have revealing magic available to us, and we proved the name had been transfigured.  If you cast a _Revealio_ , you will see the truth we found.”

Arthur pulled his wand from an interior jacket pocket and waved it over the parchment, silently casting the spell and changing _Arthur Edward Weasley_ to _Molly Elspeth Prewett-Weasley_.  Arthur gasped in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, Arthur,” said Sirius Black from the armchair nearer the desk.  “The contract is obviously illegal since the Groom’s Guardian is fraudulent.  I had a feeling that you knew nothing about this, and there is no way to enforce this contract.  We merely brought you in to find out your true reaction.”

“My true reaction?” said Arthur incredulously.  “I’m flabbergasted!  That’s my true reaction!  When I get to Molly….”

“Please, Mr. Weasley,” interrupted Manzini, “do not confront your wife about this issue.  I am investigating the near rise of a possible Dark Lord, and part of that investigation is uncovering as much corruption as possible.  I would like to prevent this Darkness from coming into being, you see, so this contract will be used as evidence.  It is entirely possible that the wizard in question had placed your wife under a compulsion spell in order to force her to sign the contract, and if she becomes aware that we know about it then she could unwittingly let him know that we’re on to him.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.  “You’re not trying to trap Molly, are you?”

Manzini tilted his head forward in acknowledgment of the accusation.  “If Mrs. Molly Elspeth Prewett-Weasley is truly innocent of compliance in this issue, then you have nothing to fear.  Instead, since _you_ are truly innocent of compliance in this issue, I would like to tell you to go home and inform your wife and children that you will be leaving for in-depth training in The Hague, Netherlands, for one week, and that you will then be starting a new, higher-paying job within the Ministry.  You will report here, at the bank, for your International Portkey, on Thursday, August 15 th, at nine o’clock in the morning.  Pack lightly, as non-magical clothing will be part of your training, and a new wardrobe will be provided as part of your training.  The Outreach Office in every Ministry is, of course, under the purview of the ICWW.”

 

When Arthur Weasley left the bank only twenty minutes later (after signing, for real, an official employment contract), he was bewildered and overjoyed.  Also, confounded.

That special investigator said he was looking into a new possible Dark Lord, and the other ‘official’ name at the bottom of that contract was _Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_.


	12. Chapter Seven: What I Did on My Summer Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The kiddies will be headed for school soon, but first: THIS!  
> For reasons, here's the breakdown:  
> In Bold Print=What’s happening in the Temporal Chamber  
> In Regular Print=What’s happening outside the Temporal Chamber

** Chapter Seven: What I Did on My Summer Vacation **

****

Emma and Daniel Granger followed their daughter, Hermione, into Gringott’s Bank.  They would be meeting the rest of their travelling party there before their journey to Summerisle of the Deep.  Because the Goblin Nation was very close to Wilde Magic, there was a direct portal to the Summerisle Receiving Chamber from every bank branch.  Bertie had described it to be very similar to the portal at Kings Cross Station, which Hermione would use to gain entrance to Platform 9 ¾, and then Bertie had to graphically describe _that_ portal so the Grangers would know what to look for on September first.  Augusta and Sirius promised to be on-hand so that all three children could board the train at the same time, so the Grangers were not worried that they would look foolish trying to send their daughter through a solid brick wall.

The Grangers followed a Goblin through the bank to the far-reaches, past the Vault-cart boarding area, and saw Sirius Black, with a white owl on his shoulder, talking quietly with Bertie and Lady Augusta Longbottom.  Hermione rushed ahead to greet them, asking about the boys.

“Harry and Neville rode down to their Heritage Vaults.  Neville wanted to find a wand that liked him, rather than buying a new one so close to the beginning of the school term, and Harry was looking for some reading material.”

“Really,” asked Hermione, “what kind of reading material?”

“Well,” said Sirius as he petted Hedwig, “I was best friends with Harry’s father, so I can tell him all about James, but I was never really close with Lily until she married James.  But I remembered that Lily was always writing in something, be it a journal or notebook, so I figured that those journals would have magically transferred into the Vault.  They can tell Harry more about his mother than I ever could.”

“That makes a lot of sense,” said Daniel as he and Emma joined the group.  “I know they’ll only be in that Chamber for four days, but I’m sure they’ll have some down-time in there.  Hermione bought a few more books on the way here, just to press more information into her enormous brain.”

“DAD!”  Hermione blushed furiously.  “I just found a few books about Magical Enclaves and Magical Creatures.  Bertie said there are all types of magical animals on the island, so I thought I’d read about things I might actually see there.”

“That was a good idea,” praised Sirius.  “Just make sure you have your camera ready when you see those animals.”

“Lady Augusta, I thought you would not be able to make this part of the vacation,” said Emma kindly.

Augusta smiled as she gathered a small valise in her arms.  “I will be unable to spend the entire week, of course, but I have business to discuss with a Healer on the island.  Bertie mentioned my son and daughter-in-law, I believe?”

Daniel grew serious.  “Yes, he mentioned that those Death-eaters tortured them and that they’ve been hospitalized since the attack?”

Augusta nodded.  “They’ve been in the Janus Thickey Ward of St, Mungo’s for the past ten years.  The Healers have no idea if they can be brought out of their catatonia, but they are only using Wizarding Medicine.  Bertie had the thought that I should possibly try a Parsel-healer for them, so I’ll be speaking with a Healer on Summerisle to see if there is anything they might be able to do for them.”

Daniel pursed his lips in consternation.  “Parsel-magic is that snake-language thing, right?  If it’s supposed to be so advanced, I don’t understand why the magical people in this country haven’t been using it all this time.”

“Because,” said Augusta, “the magicals in this country are backwards and superstitious.  I’m afraid I am much the same, although I am trying to improve myself.”

Harry and Neville suddenly appeared from the Vault-cart area; Neville was brandishing a shining wand in his right hand, and Harry was tugging the closure on his cross-body bag with his left hand and holding a long ebony-and-gold pole in his right.

“Hey!  I found this perch in the Vault!  I hope Hedwig likes it!”

The snowy owl hooted softly and flew from Sirius’ shoulder to Harry’s, where she began grooming the boy she claimed as her own.

Emma smiled brightly and moved forward to join the young people as they were being ushered into the Transportation Room, saying to Lady Augusta,  “I’m ever so glad Dan and I are completely ignorant of those superstitions!  We have no bad habits about magic to recover from.”

The journey was quick.  One step was within the Transportation Room in Gringott’s Bank, the next step was through a large, shimmering, gilded frame (much like one around an expensive painting in a museum) and into the Receiving Chamber on Summerisle.  Complete international travel with no baggage check, no passports, and no jet-lag.

While Daniel and Emma were very impressed, and who wouldn’t be, Daniel exclaimed upon exiting the Chamber, “That was nice, but if we ever go anywhere together in the non-magical world, I insist that we travel the non-magical way.  This was very disconcerting.”

Emma nodded vigorously in agreement as she bustled the children out of the Chamber, mindful that they all had their luggage in hand.

They were met in the hallway by Cadmus, who seemed genuinely excited by the prospect of acting as ‘tour guide’ to the adults while the children and Sirius were in the Temporal Chamber.  Cadmus showed them to their rooms, which had a lovely view of the Ionian Sea beyond vast orchards and gardens, and told them that he would be back within half an hour to give them the ‘sickle tour’ of the main house before lunch, so Emma and Daniel were left to unpack and explore their room, which was larger and more luxurious than in any high-end hotel they had ever been in.

While the Grangers were putting clothes away in the wardrobe and bouncing like children on the cushy mattress, Cadmus led the trio of children to another wing, where they would be spending the next four days—minus daily breaks—inside a large Temporal Chamber.  The Chamber itself was rather plain: small desk-and-chair sets and leather sofas and bright rugs on the floor, with magical paintings on the walls which would be used as a sort of ‘teaching screens’ so that the children could view lessons like on a television screen.  There were windows, of course, but they were shielded and only admitted light because the sight of time passing in such a slow manner would challenge the psyches of the inhabitants of the Chamber.

Bertie, on the other hand, was leading Augusta toward the open solarium, where he knew Healer Asclepius would be waiting.  Al, as he was called, was interested in the possibility of treating patients who were tortured so badly by the Cruciatus Curse that they withdrew completely into their own minds.  He was certain that he could heal the couple, but he was unsure as to how long the effort would take.  In no way did he want to lead Lady Longbottom to believe that there would be a quick cure, but he needed as many details about the case as the woman could provide.  Al’s first priority, however, was to Harry Potter, as he promised Healer  Bonecracker to clean the boy’s Core of the Darkness as soon as possible.  Bonecracker would be joining them after lunch to take part in the Core healing, as she had a very troubling idea as to what that Darkness was.  Al hoped she was wrong.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

“Harry,” said Cadmus after lunch, “I know you know Healer Bonecracker, but this is Asclepius, the Order Healer.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Hermione.  “Were you named after the Greek God of Medicine?”

Asclepius chuckled lowly. “No, my dear.  I _am_ the Greek God of Medicine. Rather, I am one of the First Magicals, and I have been around for a _very_ long time, and the ancient Greeks attributed my magic to god-hood.  Most of my friends, however, call me ‘Al’.  It is very nice you meet you all.  Sirius, how have you been?”

Sirius smiled at the man who helped get him back on his feet.  “I’m doing pretty well, thanks.  I think I need a bit more of your tender care, but that’s part of why I’m here.”

Al smiled genially.  “Yes, of course.  But first, Bonecracker and I need to examine Harry now that he’s had a full meal.  If you will come with us please, the initial examination will not take long, and then I shall have a full report for your godfather.”

Harry nodded silently and followed the goblin and the tall human from the room, leaving the others to plan how they would spend the time during the Temporal breaks.

In another room, Al bade Harry to lie upon a leather-cushioned sofa, and he began to silently cast Parsel-magic diagnostics on the boy, well aware that if he spoke aloud, Harry would most likely be able to understand him.  Bonecracker stood silently in the background, waiting for the diagnostic spells to be completed.  When Al finished, he looked grimly at his companion.

“It is as I feared, then?” Bonecracker asked.

“I believe it is worse than you feared,” answered Al.  “It is time to bring in Lords Porpington and Black, I believe, so that a plan of action can be made.”

Harry sat up, looking worried.  “Is it really bad?”

Al offered a calming smile.  “Let’s wait for your guardians, shall we?  But don’t worry; it can all be fixed with no lasting effects. I dare say we can even fade that nasty scar on your forehead, if you wish.”

Harry absently rubbed the lightning-bolt scar over his left eye.  “That would be nice.  Everybody keeps staring at it.”

Bonecracker returned with Bertie and Sirius, and they both sat on either side of Harry, offering support.  Al pulled up a chair in front of them and folded his hands together in his lap.

“I believe, Sirius, that you mentioned that there were rumors about this Voldemort making some sort of return?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius.  “Some of the so-called ‘reformed’ Death-eaters were making murmurs of old Voldie becoming some kind of immortal.  I wouldn’t be taking them seriously, but there were a _lot_ of rumors, especially in areas where I should not have been.”

Al frowned deeply.  “I’ll not castigate you for sneaking about, trying to find information about anyone who might be a danger to your godson, but I trust you were very careful?  I didn’t heal you so that you could go about putting yourself in danger again.”

“No worries there; I know how to go about being un-noticed.  Why do you ask, anyway?”

“Because,” said Al gravely, “there is a ritual that is so Dark that it is practically Black Magic, and I believe that this Voldemort may have performed it not once, but several times.  I shan’t go into details, but it involves ritual murder with _intent_ and rendering the soul into pieces, causing a sort of immortality as the wizard in question can not be fully killed as long as part of the soul is floating about away from the body.

“When Bonecracker told me of her suspicions, I went to the Signature Archive to feel the Magical Signature of the Dark Lord Voldemort—don’t look at me like that, Lord Black!  You are aware that this place is the Origin of All Magic; we have _every_ magical signature on archive.  As I was saying, I needed to feel the Magical Signature of Voldemort so that I could be prepared to examine Harry, and his Signature is all over that scar.  But Voldemort’s Magical Signature is exactly the same as one Tom Marvolo Riddle, so you’ll have to do some research on him.  If what Bonecracker and I believe is true, then Tom Riddle performed that Dark ritual and left a piece of his soul inside of young Harry, here.”

There was general pandemonium as Sirius, Bertie, and Harry began to freak the hell out.  Al let them get the worst out of their systems before bringing them under control. 

“Gentlemen, please!  As I said, this can be fixed.  Bonecracker and I can remove the soul piece and place it into another vessel, preferably a plain crystal geode, since that can contain the soul without being compromised.  The soul fragment and geode can then be taken deep under Gringott’s, where they can be destroyed by Goblin Magic.  Harry will not suffer through the procedure, and his scar will fade to nothing while he is in the Temporal Chamber.  That is not the main issue here.”

Sirius started at that final statement.  “What _is_ the main issue, then?”

Al offered a somewhat comforting smile to Harry, who could feel the seriousness of the situation.  “The main issue is that the fragment inhabiting Harry’s scar is a small fragment.  If the former followers of Voldemort are sincere in their belief that Voldemort will someday return, then it is possible that there are other soul fragments distributed around Great Britain.  So, it shall become a priority to find those other fragments and destroy them before this so-called return occurs.  But that is not for Harry to deal with, alright?”

Harry nodded reluctantly.  “Alright, sir.  If you say so.”

“I do, indeed, Harry,” said Al sincerely.  “All you need to worry about is healing, and learning all of that Lordship stuff, and being just a kid.  Now, what say you let me get that nasty fragment out of your head, yes?”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

“Now,” said Cadmus to Emma and Daniel after Harry left with Al, “since Harry is bound to be with the healers for a long while, I suggest that I take Hermione and Neville to Lady Nimue.  She will be the one to take them to see the Pythia in Delphi.”

“ _Pythia_?” asked Emma.  “I thought they were going to see a Parsel-mage?  What is a Pythia?”

“The Pythia is the Oracle at Delphi.  While Nimue was the very first Parsel-speaker, the Pythia is the true All-Speaker.  She gains her Sight from the Great Python, one of the might Earth Dragons that support and bring Magic to the world.  If there is any way to gift Parsel-speak to Hermione and Neville, the Pythia will know the way.  Of course, if she is successful at the transference, it will have to remain a secret.  She is offering this as a one-time gift.”

Hermione and Neville agreed immediately, and Emma and Daniel watched them walk off down the hall with Cadmus.

“Our little girl is growing up,” said Emma Softly.

“I just hope our little girl isn’t growing away from us.”

Emma looked searchingly at her husband.  “She might become part of this whole other world, but she will never grow away from us.  We’ll just have to find a way to stay close to her as she changes.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

Harry screamed in agony as white-hot magic ripped into his skull.  All of his muscles tensed at once and he arched off of the table in the middle of the ritual room, his fingers clawing at the surface.  It felt to him as if his brain was frying inside of his head, and he prayed for relief—or death.

Bonecracker held Harry’s shoulders down as Asclepius  poured pure Light magic into the Darkness in Harry’s scar, and thick brackish smoke poured from the scar and into the clear-quartz geode, turning it smoky-grey.  Harry groaned deeply and shuddered as the Darkness left his body, and he passed out cold, never even opening his eyes in relief.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Hermione and Neville staggered out of the dank cave in the base of the Temple of Apollo with the scent of the Pit Vapors drifting from their clothes and hair.  They had green-hued scales on their throats and their eyes showed the oblong, slit-shaped pupils of a snake rather than the round humanoid pupils.  Once they reached clean, pure air and sunlight, the scales and snake-eyes faded into nothingness, and the children regained their normal appearance.  Hermione looked at Neville and hissed sharply.  Neville laughed and hissed in response.

Nimue, resplendent in an organza sundress and wide-brimmed straw hat, gazed serenely at the children— _her_ children; children of the Speaker.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

“Now, before the children enter the Temporal Chamber,” said Cadmus to the Grangers and Lady Longbottom, “let me explain how the next four day will go.  The children will go through health checks three times each natural day, and they will have meal times, sleep times, and recreational times while undergoing their training.  The first day’s focus will be on removing any Magical Blocks that the children may have on their Magical Cores.  This may not be pertinent to Hermione, but Magical parents often put blocks on their children to curb the instances of accidental magic.  The second day will be focused on Magical Theory and meditation techniques.  The third day will be focused on strengthening the Magical Cores, and the final day will be spent preparing the children for re-entering the natural world.

“The children will spend all four days studying Estate Management, Etiquette, Magical Government, Potions Theory and Practice, History of Magic, Parsel-magic, Wandless Magic, and Basic Herbology.  The Herbology will help with Potions, so it is considered an adjacent subject in much of the Magical World.  They children will be scheduled for OWL exams at the British Ministry of Magic on August 28th so that the results will be available before the start of term on September first.”

Harry, Neville, and Hermione offered hugs and handshakes to parents and guardians all around, feeling just a little bit silly doing so.  Sirius chuckled and slapped Harry on the shoulder as he led the way into the Chamber.  Harry shrugged and followed, bringing Hermione and Neville behind him.  Emma and Daniel waved lightly as Hermione passed through the doorway, and then they turned to Cadmus with questions in their eyes.

“So,” said Daniel, “how is it really going to be?”

Cadmus shrugged.  “Pretty much like I just told you.  They will mature while in that Chamber, but there are potions that they will be required to take after they come out that will negate the physical changes.  Some changes, however, will be permanent.  Their hair will grow, so they will need cuts every time they come out of the Chamber.  They will be removed from the Chamber four times each day, for no less than two hours each time.  During these breaks, you will notice the changes.  It would be beneficial to you and the children if you do _not_ make much ado about those changes.”

“What will the potions do?” asked Emma, concerned.

“The time in the Temporal Chamber will age them, as would the equivalent time in the natural world.”  Cadmus tried to explain the situation in a way the non-magicals would understand.  “The potions are similar to aging potions, in that they will keep the children from physically maturing at a faster rate.  They might grow taller, but the potions will prevent a full-on growth spurt.  The potions will also prevent much of puberty from coming on too early.  The idea is to make sure that when they leave the Chamber, they will still essentially be eleven-year-old children, even if their Magical Cores are past the first Maturity.”

Emma heaved a sigh of relief, and then laughed at herself in embarrassment, wiping tears from her eyes.  “I’m sorry, but she’s my little girl, you know?  I didn’t want to miss her growing up.”

Cadmus smiled in understanding.  “It’s completely natural for you to feel that way.  Temporal Chambers are usually used in cases of experimentation, when time is a constraint.  The wizards who used them know the risks, and spend as little time in them as possible.  Time magic is a dangerous thing, and is not to be taken lightly.  Now, why don’t we talk about a vacation schedule for the two of you, since that is part of why you’re here?”

Emma and Daniel followed Cadmus through the halls of Summerisle Headquarters, marveling at the artwork on the walls.  When they passed by open doors, they noticed the uniformed House Elves dusting or shelving books.  Emma and Daniel had talked with Bertie about House Elves and their vow of service to magical humans, and they greatly admired the small beings for their dedication.  They were often ‘invisible’, doing their work when nobody was around to witness it, but from the brief glances the Grangers had, the elves looked happy.

“Now, because you will want to be here when the children come out of the Chamber, an Order member will be assigned to you so that you can be transported away from the island and back to it.  There are plenty of beautiful places near to us, and most are not in the Magical Enclaves.  We are close to Greece, of course, but Italy, Spain, Tunisia, and Morocco are all well within portkey distance.  Of course, this island is unique and beautiful as well, and you might enjoy exploring here for a day or so before the four-day interment is over.  There are waterfalls and fruit groves and herds of magical animals to see, and there are clear pools for swimming if you don’t like the ocean.”

“Wow,” exclaimed Daniel.  “This could be a second honeymoon for us!  With our daughter present, even!”

Emma laughed and shoved against her husband.  “Stop!  I’m just glad we bought so many disposable cameras!”

 

 

** Part Two **

****

**“The harvesting of plants for Potion use is a very exacting process.  Care must be taken to not damage any part of the plant, from root to leaf, and in some cases weather and moon phase are part of that process.”**

**“Is there any benefit to growing certain plants together in the same plot, or can plants be grown in any configuration?” asked Neville as he took meticulous notes.**

**Professor Augustinian smiled.  “Well, there are Potioners that grow their plants in ‘Potion Gardens’, with ingredients clustered by recipe, but that only works if cross-contamination and cross-germination is not an issue.”**

**@@@**

**“It is not simply a matter of waving a wand in a particular pattern, you see,” said Professor Atlain.  “The _intent_ of the spell must be clear.  If your magic is strong enough, you can wave a pencil and complete the spell as long as your intent is clear.”**

**@@@**

**“The proper way to address a Lord or Lady of lower social rank is to bow with the head and maintain contact,” said Madam Mercasile.  “If you are greeting several people at once, you must quickly establish social rank in regards to your own rank.  Miss Granger, who is not officially part of a Noble House, would be of lower rank to most Lords and Ladies that she will likely meet, so she should curtsey and keep her eyes lowered in respect.  Official respect, that is, because you are all likely to meet with reprehensible people, but it is unseemly to show your distaste outwardly in public.”**

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

Daniel watched, grinning, as Neville and Harry endured what, to them, was a minor annoyance, but was really their third haircut that day.  The boys were good-natured about it, though, and they were debating with Sirius the merits of keeping fashionably long hair, as long as it was tied neatly and not left to the mercy of the wind.

Hermione was sitting on a metal chair at the other end of the small patio, patiently listening as a House Elf taught her hair-braiding charms. Her out-of-control curly hair had finally grown to reach almost to her hips, and she was resisting a cut, but braiding was helping to keep it tidy and out of her face.  Emma was snapping photos of each new hairstyle, rejoicing in the relief on Hermione’s face when she mastered a new braid.

“Braiding be most simple way to style hair,” said Cozy as she described each charm.  “There be potions to make hair sleek and tidy, but too many potions can leaves the hair greasy and can make it be falling out.”

Hermione carefully aimed her wand at the back of her head and muttered the charm, and the long tresses twisted and waved around until the braids were coiled carefully against the sides of her head.  “Look, mom!  I have Princess Leia hair!”

Emma laughed.  “I see that.  It’s lovely, however I think you should consider getting a trim the next few times out.  I have no problem with you having princess hair as long as the princess isn’t Rapunzel.”

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**“There are many potions ingredients that will produce helpful cures or beneficial tinctures, but are in fact dangerous by themselves.  As you will be spending time in non-magical London next week, I should like to recommend a side-trip to Alnwick Castle.  There is an impressive array of gardens at the castle, but most importantly is the Poison Garden, which is a most impressive collection of poisonous plants.  Everything in that garden can kill, and most are deceptively benign in appearance.  It is important to be able to identify at a glance what is dangerous in the world of flora.”**

**@@@**

**“The Wizengamot is the voting part of Wizarding Law.  Members set law, oversee trials, and decide on how best to improve the lives of the citizens of the Wizarding World.  The British Wizengamot is, unfortunately, populated by wealthy members of Noble Houses and high-ranking Minister employees, but in other countries, as well as the ICWW, citizens have direct voting power.  I believe the ICWW is working on forcing a restructure of the British system of government, due to the rampant corruption that is ruling the system.”**

**“Could I vote in the ICWW?” asked Hermione.**

**“Yes,” answered Professor Killian.  “in many ways. If you are to become an educator in any member-country of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards, you would be part of the Theogratis Voting Bloc.  If you become a shop-keeper, you would be part of the Martold Voting Bloc.  Every profession has a voting bloc within the ICWW, and each voting bloc holds international conventions to see how their needs and wants can best be met, and every member has an actual vote.  They do not have to vote along party lines, as many non-magical governments require.”**

**“So,” continued Hermione, “even if my opinion would not count in the British Wizengamot, it would count with the ICWW?”**

**“Yes.  And the ICWW officially oversees other national governments, to prevent the rich and powerful from lording over the general population.  The ICWW has had, in the past, to totally reconfigure national governments in order to protect the general citizenry.  In the rarest of cases, the Order of Summerisle directs the total dismantlement of the government, and sometimes Wilde Magic has removed magic from all citizens because of corruption that went against the Rule of Merlin.  This has happened in several notable occasions….”**

**@@@**

**“Very good, Harry!  Now, reach deep inside you to feel your Core…and push the raw magic outward…Very good!  And that is how you project a Patronus!  Now, there are several theories that only a good or happy memory can produce a Patronus, but it is raw magic that does so.  Frankly, in the heat of battle, or in an emergency, it is very difficult to think of something completely happy, but it is very easy to reach into your Core for raw magic.”**

**@@@**

**“I know it’s difficult, Sirius,” said Healer Tontague, “but you have to let go of the anger.  Find a different outlet for it.  The people who took your freedom are being punished, probably not as badly as you were, but that is the way of things.  You have your godson now, and a Family to take charge of.  Your energy would best be served elsewhere, instead of focusing on the past.”**

******           ****           ****           ****           ******

 

Emma and Daniel wandered over the coastline of the beautiful island that was the Origin of Magic, holding hands and looking for shells.  There were endless vistas to capture on film, and Emma was taking careful notes of each photograph so that they could be sorted into albums; some to be kept for family only and some to be shared with friends.  They had just left Hermione after a two-hour visit, and were wandering toward a recommended waterfall for a picnic lunch.  Hermione hadn’t been hungry during their visit, but they had been warned that meal times within the Chamber might not coincide with meal times without.

Emma sighed in happiness when they reached their target spot.  It really was lovely.  The waterfall rained down over a high cliff that was edged with brightly leaved trees.  The pool at the bottom was wide and dark blue, and the mid-day sun filtered rainbows in the spray.  Emma dropped the blanket she was carrying and pulled her camera from her pocket.

“This is the perfect backdrop, Dan.  I wish we could have someone to take a photo of the two of us together.”

“If missus shows Dodger how to do it, Dodger can takes the photo.”

The timid voice behind them caused Emma and Daniel to turn quickly, and they saw the oddest little House Elf ever.  He wore baggy cargo pants and a neatly pressed polo-shirt and a large, floppy golfer’s cap, from under which his large, bat-like ears poked.  He stood as tall as any of the other elves the Grangers had met, topping out at just under four-feet, and on his feet were children’s sneakers.

“Um, al-alright,” Emma stammered, walking to stand next to the elf.  She offered the camera, directing him to hold it in front of his eyes.  “Do you see that little square in the lens? Everything inside that square will be in the shot, and all you need to do is press this bit button on top, and you’ll hear the shutter click.  When you’ve taken the photo, you just turn this reel to advance the film, and then you’ll be ready for the next photo.”

The elf grinned widely and accepted the photo, waiting until Emma and Daniel were positioned just right in front of the waterfall so that the rainbows danced around their heads, and then he pressed the button as instructed.  The camera clicked and the flash popped, and then the elf, Dodger, advanced the film like he was shown before shyly offering the camera back to Emma.

“Dodger likes to being helpful with non-magics,” he said with a soft voice, and Emma was charmed.

“If you’d like to join us, we’d love to have more photographs of the two of us,” she offered.  “We were just taking a break for lunch before continuing on our hike.”

Dodger bounced on his toes.  “Dodger be liking to help the missus,” he said happily.

 

An hour later, when Daniel and Emma returned from their hike along the eastern shore, they were met by an amused Lady Nimue and a sheepish Cadmus.

“What’s wrong?” asked Daniel cautiously.  “Is it the children?  Did we do something?”

“No,” said Nimue carefully, “you have done nothing…yet.  Actually, the two of you may be able to offer a solution to a slight problem that we have.”

“Us?  I mean,” stammered Daniel, “of course, we’d be happy to help, after all that you’ve done for us, but I don’t really understand how we can.”

Nimue gestured for the Grangers to follow her to a set of lounge chairs setting just inside the shade of a fig palm.  Once they were settled, Nimue asked, “I know that you’ve been very inquisitive since your arrival here, so tell me what you understand about House Elves.”

“Well,” said Emma doubtfully, “we know that they have given a vow to serve witches and wizards, and that they are happy to do so.  And that it takes powerful and strong magic to support House Elves, as they have a symbiotic relationship with the families or institutions that they serve.”

Nimue inclined her head in agreement.  “Yes, the Elf Vow is a sacred vow, and all Magicals should be driven to see to the health and well-being of the elves because of the sanctity of the vow.  However, like humans, some elves have very…interesting…idiosyncrasies and we do try to work around those.  There is an elf here, however, who has urges beyond our capabilities to work with, because we are all Magicals, and this is the most holy and Magical of places.”

Daniel squinted his eyes in doubt.  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

Cadmus heaved a sigh.  “You met Dodger today, yes?”

Emma grinned.  “Yes, and he’s adorable.”

Cadmus nodded.  “He is, and he’s very precious to us.  Dodger is one of our older elves here, being three hundred years old, and we try to give him everything he wants and needs to stay healthy and happy, but Dodger is totally enthralled with the non-magical world.  What he wants, more than anything, is to serve and live in the non-magical world, with a normal, non-magical family, and we can’t provide that for him.  He’s happy enough here, and we give him every freedom that we can afford, but he…pines.  And that is not healthy for him, and it could risk his magic and his sanity.”

“But, how can we help with that?” asked Emma.  “I mean, by his very nature he needs strong magic to survive.”

“Yes,” said Nimue carefully, “and because of that, you can help.  If you allowed yourself, or your husband, to become magically adopted into a strong, Light family, then the family magic would be enough to support Dodger, and he could live with and serve you—if you allow and wish it.”

Emma and Daniel gaped at her, shocked at the suggestion.  “Um, is that even possible?  I mean, we’re…adults.”

“Yes, and that is why you would be uniquely preferable for this.  If we just asked for you to allow your daughter to be adopted, it would remove your familial authority over her—and she is magical, so Dodger would still be in service to a magical family.  But as an adult, you would become part of a magical family without giving up your personal family connections.  The Family Magic would support Dodger without drawing him into directly into the main family.”

Nimue studied the Grangers as they silently communicated with each other.  It was a difficult thing that she was asking.  The Grangers were thrown heavily into the Magical World when their daughter was discovered to be a witch, and while they seemed to be handling things well, Nimue was sure the adjustments were going to be difficult.  Bringing them to the island might have been the best thing to do for them, because they were completely immersed into the Magical World and could see the wonders that their daughter would now live with every day.  It was not something that could be offered to other non-magical parents, which was a shame.  Human nature simply did not allow for the jealousies and disgruntlements that came with having a magical child to go unanswered, and many times magical children had to be removed from their families for those very reasons.  Too many times, in fact, and it hurt Nimue’s heart every time it happened.  Abandonment, abuse, and even child-murder were often the results when a magical child was born into a ‘normal’ family.

“I realize,” said Nimue after a long moment, “that we are asking quite a lot, and that it is a difficult thing….”

“We’ll do it!” Daniel interrupted.  “I mean, _Emma_ will do it.  I understand how the adoption of a son might make for contentions, so perhaps a daughter would be easier, but we’ll do it.  Not, so you understand, because we want a house servant, but because we want to help the magical world any way we can; because Hermione is part of that world now.  Honestly, we’d probably adopt a unicorn if it would help Magic in the slightest way.”

Nimue laughed heartily.  “There would be no need for that, but I thank you for your sacrifice.  I know Lord Porpington is the Magical Guardian for your daughter, and that he has no daughters of his own, so he may be amenable to the Magical Adoption.  Come,” she said, standing, “let us find out.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**“The Goblin Nations never took a vow to _serve_ Wizardkind, but they did vow to _protect_ Wizardkind—from taking over and subjugating the rest of the world.  That is one of the major reasons Wizardkind uses a totally different monetary system than the rest of the world.  In any country, all across the globe, a Galleon is equal to a Galleon, a Sickle to a Sickle, and a Knut to a Knut.  Exchange rates to non-magical money vary depending on the economy of each country, but Magical money rates are universal.”**

**“How exactly does that protect Wizardkind from taking over the world?” asked Harry as he scribbled his notes.**

**“Well,” said Professor Killian, “it prevents Wizardkind from raising or lowering the value of the gold standard that the non-magical world uses.  If the money exchange rate cannot be changed, then Wizardkind is powerless to affect the world economy.”**

**“How else does the Goblin Nation protect Wizardkind?” asked Neville.**

**“The goblins hold the secrets of Wizardkind, Neville.  Every investment, business transaction, and contract, whether legal or otherwise, is held in trust in Gringott’s Bank.  The goblins are willfully blind to those transactions, and they are not omniscient as to the goings-on in the bank.  However, the goblins _can_ find out what those transactions are due to the close relationship with Wilde Magic.  For that reason, stealing from the goblins, either through deceit or outright burglary, is considered a crime against Magic, and can result in dire circumstances.  Attempts to defraud or cheat the Bank can result in the loss of personal or Family magic, because such is seen as an attack on the honor of Wilde Magic.”**

**“Has that ever happened?” asked Harry, intrigued.  “Someone losing their magic because they tried to steal from the bank, I mean?”**

**“Oh, yes,” exclaimed Professor Killian.  “It was a dreadful case, and that family has been struck from magical records for all time.”**

**Hermione’s eyes grew wide in excitement. “Please tell us!  It all sounds so interesting!”**

**Professor Killian shot her a reproachful look but complied.  “Very well.  Keep in mind that more modern Wizards are more careful and respectful of the role goblins have in our magical society, so this instance happened many years ago.”  Seeing that he had his students’ rapt attention, Professor Killian perched himself on the edge of the desk in the center of the room and clasped his hands together in front of him.  “In 1845, a simple merchant by the name of Carolius Binns made some very…bad…business choices, and he went completely bankrupt.  The only thing he retained was his family home, which had no debt upon it, but he had a large family to support.  For some reason, he considered that the goblins had enough gold in their coffers, and as they were an inferior race, they should give it up to the wizards that ruled the country.  Please keep in mind that this pureblood nonsense has been going on for centuries, and that the so-called blood purists think they actually _do_ rule the world.**

**“Binns sent in requisitions to the Ministry of Magic, asking that the gold in Gringott’s bank be fairly distributed to the merchant class, so that the economy would not fall.  It was utter nonsense, and the Ministry told him so, but Binns would not be dissuaded.  He began to badger other merchants with his ideals, and managed to pass a small regulation in the Wizengamot that declared goblins to be magical _creatures_ rather than magical _beings_ , forcing the magical humans to see them as lesser, and therefore unable to hold the wealth of Wizardkind.”**

**“Well, that’s just stupid!  And I don’t see how that could have passed!”  Hermione’s indignation amused Professor Killian and he gifted her with a small smile.**

**“The wording was vague, and it was slipped into a different referendum declaring animals such as acromantulas and thestrals as creatures, and once the regulation passed, Gringott’s closed doors completely.  The world Wizarding economy shut down totally for almost a year before someone realized what had happened.  This is one reason Wizengamot sessions last so long; all referendums and regulations must be completely read through, word for word, now instead of being skimmed over.  The regulation was adjusted, the goblins were apologized to, and Binns was sanctioned fiercely by Magic and government alike.  He lost his home, his family was left destitute, and his reputation was in a shambles.  Carolius Binns died in shame.**

**“But his oldest son, Marcellus Binns, tried to exact a sort of revenge against the ones he felt responsible: the goblins.  Marcellus began a career teaching, in a very small magical school that did not have the reputation of Hogwarts, and his favorite subject to teach was Goblin Rebellions.  Of course, there were no such things.  His vindictiveness knew no bounds, and Wilde Magic retaliated by removing most of what was left of his Family Magic.  The school, of course, was forced to close because it developed a horrible reputation of giving children bad information.  Several Binns descendents tried to rebuild any sort of reputation, but they could not hold accounts because Gringott’s would not have them.  Their magic was all but gone, and they had no home.  The last Binns was named Cuthbert, and he was born in 1900.  Very little is known about him, except that he also blamed the goblins for his family’s troubles.  He had a very weak Magical Core and almost no Family Magic, and he found a home in the only place that would have him: Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Unfortunately, he also chose to teach History, and his main focus was Goblin Rebellions.”**

**Harry’s eyebrows rose incredulously.  “When our guardians were deciding what we should learn in here, they mentioned Professor Binns, from Hogwarts, was teaching History and he was a ghost.  Is that the same person?”**

**“Most likely, Harry.  The loss of Family Magic and a weak Magical Core can be fatal.  The fact that he continued to put blame where it was not due could also have contributed.  It is likely that he just passed in his sleep, as Wilde Magic would never cause anyone to suffer, no matter that they deserved it.”**

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

“OH!” Hermione exclaimed, “what is that blue antelope?”

Cadmus looked across the meadow and chuckled.  There, under a blooming truffle-tree, stood a tall, antelope-type animal with blue fur and a bright magenta mane that flowed down its neck.  It had two twisting horns high on its forehead and it was munching leaves from the truffle-tree without noticing the cluster of people standing before it.

“That, dear Hermione, is a Crumple-horned Snorkack.  There is a small herd on the island, but the largest population is in Zimbabwe.  If you look closer to the trees, you’ll see a young one.  The horns don’t develop until they are a year old.”

Hermione leaned forward and focused her attention to the low-hanging trees, and she saw a smaller version of the majestic animal, more muted in color and hornless.  “I found a book about magical animals, but they aren’t listed,” Hermione said as she snapped a photograph.

“There are many magical animals that have never been officially recorded.  My personal favorite is the Blithering Humdinger, which you can find on the West-wing veranda back at headquarters.”

“What are those?” asked Emma as she handed her camera to Dodger. The happy House Elf had become part of the outings during the children’s breaks, taking group photos and learning how to line up shots.  Emma rather thought Daniel had plans to teach the elf to golf, which amused her to no end.

“Blithering Humdingers,” said Cadmus, “are small birds, like hummingbirds, that are colored like jewels and sound like wind chimes made from wooden reeds.  They are quite pleasant to watch, and soothing to listen to.”

“They sound nice,” said Emma.  “I’ll have to look for them when we go back today.”

The ‘safari’ across the island was the last bit of recreation planned before the band of travelers moved back to England.  Lady Augusta would be meeting them at Gringott’s Bank after the return trip, where she would transfer temporary custody of Neville to the Grangers for one week.  There, the boy would be spending time with Harry and Hermione, playing tourist in non-magical London (with a side-trip to Northumberland) and solidifying his friendships.

For now, though, Neville and Harry were comparing photo-notebooks with Hermione before they moved away from this meadow and wandered into a dark, wooded area.  Emma was promised unicorns, and she was eager to see them.  She had personally gone through six disposable cameras, and was about to finish a seventh.  The film, of course, would be developed at Gringott’s Bank, as no regular photomat could deal with photos of magical things.

Harry was laughing with Sirius when they moved into the densely wooded area, until he stopped stock-still and stared into a clearing that appeared totally empty to everyone else. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” whispered Sirius, “I see them, too.”

Emma leaned closer to Cadmus and whispered, “What are they looking at?”

“Thestrals,” replied Cadmus.  “There are grotesquely magnificent and highly intelligent creatures that can only be physically seen by someone who has witnessed death.”

“Oh, Harry!” Emma sobbed softly.

“I have dreams, sometimes,” said Harry as he leaned on Sirius’ arm, “of a flash of green light and a woman screaming.”

Sirius nodded gravely.  “I found you in the nursery, next to your mother’s body.”

Hermione shouldered her way past her parents to stand next to her friend.  “What do they look like, Harry?”

Harry tilted his head as he watched the animals.  “The look a bit like horses, but their skin is really thin and you can see the bones and muscles clearly.  Their heads are like skulls, but they have bright red eyes.  Instead of fur or hair, they seem to be covered in reddish-black leather and scales, and they have leathery wings.”

“They sound incredible,” said Hermione.  “I don’t ever want to see one anytime soon, but I bet they are incredible.”

Harry looked at her and smiled. “They’re pretty neat, if a little creepy, and I hope you don’t ever get to see one, ever.”

Just then, there was a sound of movement in the bushes and the soft whickering of horses, and a bright, shining unicorn, glowing as if lit by the moon, approached the invisible thestral and bowed its head.  Emma gasped in wonder at the magnificent creature, and she reached out and grabbed Daniel’s hand in a hard, fierce grip.

A moment later, several more unicorns moved into the clearing, and the darkness was lit bright as noon-time.  A young foal moved away from the larger group and approached Emma, who held her breath as she held out her hand to gently touch the golden horn growing from the unicorn’s forehead..  The young foal nudged her hand with its nose and Emma giggled like a girl.  There was a brief flash of light, and an audible click, and Dodger was grinning brightly as he lowered the camera that he was holding.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

The next week passed in a flurry of bus tours and museum visits and photo-opportunities.  Neville had had no idea that the non-magical world was so interesting.  He watched television for the first time and learned (a little) about computers and technology and fashion, and he had a wonderful time visiting that Poison Garden.

Neville proudly escorted his grandmother to the theatre, where the whole group was gathered to see ‘Into The Woods’, and he’d never even heard of musical theatre before.   Lady Augusta was already making plans with Bertie and Emma Granger to take the whole group to see ‘The Nutcracker’ ballet during winter break.

And he had friends.

Neville was going to be sitting on the train heading to Hogwarts, and he was going to be with friends. 

          @@@

Hermione took a deep breath, bracing herself for the impromptu examination in the Ministry of Magic.  She was escorted, along with Neville and Harry, by Bertie and Sirius, and she was a bit nervous.  Doing well with schoolwork was the only way Hermione knew to get by, and this was her first Magical test.

And school hadn’t even officially started yet.

She looked over at her friends

_Her FRIENDS!_

and grinned as they took seats at the long table in the examination room.  If the proctor thought it was unusual for three students to be testing at the OWL level before even completing their first year, he never said anything.  He merely handed out the test booklets and wished them good luck.

Four hours later, Hermione, Neville, and Harry had finished OWLs for History of Magic and Potions (per the ICWW testing standards, not just the British standards), and Sirius was taking them to the Granger residence to change clothing for their end-of-vacation celebratory dinner.

What started out as just another, ordinary summer had ended up being the best of her life.

          @@@

Harry carefully packed his school robes into his roller-trunk and closed and locked it.  The robes, like Hermione’s, had been altered to show the House Emblems for Harry’s family, as befitting a Lordship Heir of two houses.  (Hermione’s robes were decorated with the sigil for the House of Porpington, since Emma was officially and Magically adopted as a Daughter of Porpington.)  Harry’s school books were stacked in a library compartment, deep inside the trunk, but in his cross-body bag he carried the results of his two OWL exams—O’s on both—that he would hand over to the Deputy Headmistress so that she would understand not to place him in regular first year History and Potions classes.  The private instructors that Sirius hired were waiting for Harry and his friends to pass along their final class schedules, but that would have to wait until after the Sorting.

The Sorting.

There was a lot of information in Hogwarts: A History about the four school Houses, but no information about the Sorting, and the trio of friends were worried about what it would entail.  Sirius finally took pity on them, and told them that they would have to wear an enchanted hat that would ‘enter their minds’ (no hint as to how, though) and place them in the House that best suited them.  They weren’t worried that they would be separated, because they swore to be friends no matter what, but being in different houses would make taking private instruction difficult.

Harry smiled at the thought of sitting with his friends on the long (eight hours!) train ride to Hogsmeade the next day.  He had a book to read, of course, but he also packed two card games that the trio had become enamored with during their time in the Temporal Chamber, and he had his Wizard’s Chess set that Hermione and Neville promised to help him practice with.  Harry had never played chess at all, but the comic violence of Wizard’s Chess amused him greatly.  Bertie had charmed the pieces to respond like members of the old slapstick troupe The Keystone Cops, so they tended to slap each other around a lot.

Hedwig was napping lightly on her ebony perch, head tucked under a wing, but Harry was preparing a cage for her to ride in on the train.  She was really his first friend, and Harry couldn’t wait to thank Hagrid again for her.  Neville had asked about getting his own owl, but Lady Augusta was still deliberating over it.  Hermione refused outright, saying an owl would look strange living at her parents’ home during school breaks, and if she needed to send a letter she could borrow Hedwig.  Harry didn’t mind sharing Hedwig with his friends, as he’d never had anything to share before, much less friends to share with.

He closed the trunk and looked around his room.  He had been living with Bertie, along with Sirius, while Sirius went through all the healing that he needed, but this room was only temporary.  While he was in school, Sirius would be clearing out one of the Black Family homes, and Harry would be living with him full time.  Sirius promised that Harry could decorate his own room any way he wanted, but that would wait until next summer break.  Harry almost couldn’t wait!  His life was pretty normal until a month ago.  Lousy and horrid, but normal.

It all changed on his birthday, and Harry couldn’t be happier.


	13. Chapter Eight: Meanwhile...Back at the Ranch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My lovely trio of children have spent two weeks getting to know each other. This chapter tells what everyone else was up to during those two weeks. More or less.  
> There is also a bit of a graphic description of what happens when a Magical Core is damaged due to Darkness and corruption.

** Chapter Eight: Meanwhile…Back at the Ranch **

****

**Black(Malfoy/Tonks)—**

After Sirius left the conference room, the three Black women were left in uncomfortable silence.  Narcissa, once so eager to reunite with her sister, was at a loss at how to begin.

Andromeda and her daughter also seemed to be at a loss.

Squaring her shoulders in delicate resolve, Narcissa looked at her sister and niece across the table and made a decision to start anew.  “Andromeda, I would like to take a short trip to the Black Heritage Vault; would you please come with me?”

Andromeda frowned slightly.  “I know Sirius officially brought me back into the family, but I doubt that I would be welcome into the Vault just yet.”

Narcissa smiled.  “You don’t have to actually enter with me, but I would like your company—and that of your lovely daughter.  I merely would like to inquire about the lack of communication between the two of us, and I think Father’s portrait will have an answer.  Please?”

Andromeda inclined her head.   “I will ride down with you, Cissy, but I will not enter the Vault.”

“Well,” said Nymphadora bullishly, “I’m not fond of those carts, so I’ll wait for you up here, if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine, dear,” replied Andromeda, “this should not take long.  Why not stay in this room and read for a bit, and we’ll come get you once we’re finished?”

 

Narcissa smiled at her niece and led Andromeda from the conference room to the Cart Boarding Area, where she informed the goblin in charge that she would like to visit the Black Heritage Vault and that no key would be needed.  Since she had never been ‘removed’ from the Family, a small drop of blood would provide access to the Vault, but she would need specific permission from the Head of the House to remove anything.

The cart ride was—exhilarating—to say the least, but Narcissa never let a crack show in her careful façade.  Andromeda also kept her composure, which impressed Narcissa to no end.  She was of the personal opinion that the Goblin Carts were designed to confuse and confound without magic, so that no thefts could successfully take place within the Bank.   She would be silently delighted to know that she was correct, and frightened to know that the secondary reason for the outlandish cart rides was because the goblins enjoyed terrifying the Wizards that used the Bank.

The Black Family Heritage Vault was hidden behind a steaming waterfall, which faded away once Narcissa pressed her palm to a faceted ruby imbedded in the stone wall.  The Vault door slid open with a disused grinding noise, but the interior of the Vault was dustless and spotless; Magic keeping the treasures inside intact and preserved.  Narcissa looked back over her shoulder once, receiving a nod from her sister, before entering the Vault and turning to the left where she knew the family portraits were kept.  Narcissa had not spoken to her father since her marriage, deciding to spend her time more wisely building a new life with her husband, and Cygnus Black II had died…presumably at the order of the Dark Lord, though Narcissa had not had confirmation of that.  She quickly located the portrait of her Father—who could not even stand to be painted alongside his faithful wife—leaning against a cabinet in the back of the portrait chamber.  The painted Cygnus had its eyes closed, but Narcissa knew the painting had been activated because Bellatrix had told her so—just before informing her that Bella had been magically removed from the Vault and not permitted entrance again after that short visit. (Narcissa never did find out what Bella was trying to remove from the Vault before her expulsion, but clearly Arcturus did not want her to have it.)

Narcissa stroked the gilded frame of the portrait and its eyes opened.  “Ah, daughter!  Have you finally come to bring me home?”

Narcissa smiled tightly.  “I have a question for you, Father, if you would be kind enough to answer it?”

If paintings could be patronizing, this one would be.  “If answering will see me removed from these relics, so be it; ask your question and get me out of here.  I deserve a place of pride in your home, Narcissa, as it was I who gave you the mate you longed for.”

Narcissa dipped her head in shame and anger at being reminded that Lucius was originally not promised to her, then she strengthened her resolve.  “Is there any reason at all why communication would be blocked between myself and Andromeda after her marriage?”

Cygnus scowled in his frame, as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.  “If you must know, once I had that Blood-Traitor removed from the family, I set a curse against her so that her sympathies would not infect the rest of the family.  No Owl owned by a Black will ever find its way to her, nor any Black Floo be open to her; no messages would ever be received from her.”

Narcissa nodded in understanding.  “I see; thank you, Father, for your answer.”

Narcissa turned away from the portrait and left the chamber, the sound of screaming fading behind her; Cygnus was demanding, then begging, to be removed from the Vault.  Narcissa was happy to leave him behind.

When she rejoined her sister outside of the Vault, Andromeda asked, “Did you find what you wanted?”

“I did, thank you,” Narcissa answered, “and I believe that a shopping trip is now required.  My treat, of course, as all of the gifts that I sent to you have most likely been magically destroyed en route.  I also seem to owe your beautiful daughter several birthday gifts.”

“Cissy, you don’t _owe_ us anything,” Andromeda refuted.  “Just having you in my life again is gift enough.”

The horrific ride to the surface passed in silence as neither sister felt comfortable speaking while in the cart, and Narcissa did not feel the need to speak again until they retrieved Nymphadora from the conference room.  Once outside the Bank, Andromeda once again tried to refuse her wealthy sister’s generosity, but was again rebuffed.

“Andy,” said Narcissa as she spun to face her sister and niece, “Father’s portrait admitted that he was the reason you never received mail from me, even after I moved out of the Family home.  You see, I took with me my personal owl, Regat, and he was once a Black owl.  The curse Father set upon you after removing from the family stated that no Black owl would ever find you.  Therefore, I need to purchase another personal Post Owl—one that would be considered a Malfoy owl.  And I think that Nymphadora might appreciate her own personal owl?  Especially if she takes Sirius’ advice and attends the ICWW Auror Academy?  Keeping in touch with her family will be important if she goes abroad for any length of time.”

Narcissa’s smile was returned beautifully by Nymphadora.  “Um, thank you, Aunt Narcissa.  But…I would appreciate it if you called me Dora, please.  Mum named me while under the influence of the pain potions the Midwife gave her, and by the time she was in her right mind again, it was too late and the name had been registered.”

Narcissa chuckled lightly.  “I do understand, my dear, believe me.  It was the Black Family tradition to name children after obscure astronomical bodies.  Unfortunately my husband found the tradition to be charming, and my son was named after the Dragon Constellation—and Lucius’ father, Abraxus.”  All three women shuddered.  “Now, please allow me to treat the both of us with the means to contact your mother, I beg you.”

Dora nodded and linked her arm with her mother’s.  “Okay, you can gift me with a mail owl.  But I really just want to get to know you; that’s the only thing I really want.”

In the end, Narcissa found a new, regal Eagle Owl that she named Ramses, and vowed to give her beloved Regat an honorable retirement with pride of place in the Malfoy owlrey.  Dora, however, found a sleek Buzzard Hawk—or, rather, the hawk found Dora.  Upon entry to Eeylops’ Owl Emporium, the sharp-beaked hawk soared from the back of the shop and landed on Dora’s shoulder, and stayed there during the entire visit despite Dora’s proclamation that she was looking for a post owl.  Narcissa simply told her to take what Magic gifted her with and purchased the hawk, along with a perch, cage, water dish, and treats, and Dora was left to name the beautiful bird—a female that Dora called Dolly.  It was an undignified name and the hawk seemed to love it.

 

**Hogwarts(Ragnok/Quirrell & Flamel/Dumbledore)—**

Ragnok looked down his hooked nose at the wizard sitting in front of his desk.  The man remained calm and unflustered, but Ragnok could tell he was angry; as was Ragnok, truth be told.

“I will have to report the attempted theft, Mr. Flamel.  Even if the vault was empty at the time, it a high crime against Magic itself to steal from Gringott’s Bank.  It has been that way since Gringott the first vowed to keep Wizardkind from overtaking the world through the rule of gold.”

“I understand that, Ragnok Sharptooth,” sighed Nicolas Flamel.  “I only wish to reclaim what was taken from _me_ personally.  You can announce to all Wizardkind that some fool tried to steal from you, and you can tell them all what the consequences are for that attempt, but my property is _mine_ to reclaim.  I may have made the mistake in allowing so many people to have access to the lab, but it is my duty to correct this error.”

“Of course,” Ragnok grinned nastily, “the fact that Lady Nimue is most annoyed with you has nothing to do with your urge to rectify your error.”

“Yes, well,” Flamel grimaced, “there is that.”

“Then I suggest that you go to Hogwarts and retrieve your property while I take the thief into custody with the assistance of a special ICWW retrieval team.  Agent Manzini is busy at the moment, but Sharpwell and Barrows are available.”

Flamel winced at the names: Genovese Sharpwell and Ethan Barrows were ICWW Hit-Wizards from New Zealand, and they were a relentless and ruthless team.  If the supposed thief was still at Hogwarts, and there was no reason he should not be, that duo would bring him to his knees with no trouble at all.

Not that the thief would be in any position to defend himself.  Stealing from Gringott’s was a dangerous thing to do, or even to try.  The magical ramifications of such an act would begin to manifest quickly: body tremors and temperature fluctuations, lack of magical control, and loss of fine motor skills would set in as a result of Magic fading from the Wizard in question.  It was well known what would be the result of stealing from Gringott’s, and it would be a complete fool to try it.  That was the main reason that wizards kept their money in the bank in the first place—it was much more secure than a personal home vault, and the Goblins cared for wizards’ wealth as if it were their own.

“Very well,” stated Flamel with finality, “we should go now, before the term starts.  I don’t want that false Stone to be within the walls of a school once students are in residence.”

Ragnok sneered.  “Since the identity of the thief has been confirmed, Hogwarts may also find themselves in need of a new instructor as well.”

 

          @@@

Albus Dumbledore was meeting with his staff, preparing for a ‘special project’ that he had planned for the coming term (The fact that none of his staff was particularly enthusiastic about his project did little to lessen his own eagerness), when the doors to the Great Hall opened and in walked an unusual quartet of people: three humans and one goblin.

One human—the oldest in appearance—was dressed in garish red robes decorated with gold and purple trim and wore red and gold satin curled-toe slippers, which,  paired with his steel-grey hair and Van Dyke beard, made him look like a displaced genie from a fairy-tale.  The other two humans were dressed in black muggle suits and dragon-hide boots, and looked very severe and serious, but it was the first human that caught Dumbledore’s attention the most.  He even managed to ignore the presence of the Goblin Hoard Leader, Ragnok, in order to focus his attention to the older man.

“Nicolas!  How wonderful to see you!  This is very unexpected, I must say!”

The older man ignored the rest of the staff, focusing his complete attention on Dumbledore.  “Yes, Albus, I imagine it is unexpected.  As was the theft from my personal laboratory on July 16th of this year.  The same day as your last visit, if I’m not mistaken.”  Flamel’s expression was dour, and the rest of the Hogwarts staff quickly dropped their feigned indifference and began to pay close attention to the exchange.

“Theft, Nicolas?”  Dumbledore stuttered slightly, raising concern in his Deputy Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, who had never, _ever_ seen Albus Dumbledore lose his composure.  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Flamel’s mouth twisted wryly.  “Of course not.  And I suppose if I _call_ for my property, it will not _Accio_ into my hand?”

Dumbledore raised a placating hand and begged, “Now, Nicolas….”  But Flamel had already raised his wand and called out “ _Accio_ False Philosopher’s Stone!” with his left hand held out empty in front of him.  In moments a low screeching was heard, as something small moved quickly through the air in the castle halls, and a bright red stone flew into the Great Hall and into Flamel’s hand.

Dumbledore paled dramatically, muttering, “That should not be possible,” but McGonagall exploded into action, flying from her seat to confront the mysterious Nicolas.

“What do you mean by ‘ _False_ Philosopher’s Stone?” she asked angrily, her Scottish brogue thickening in her ire.

Flamel never took his eyes from Dumbledore as he replied to her question. “At an Alchemical Society Symposium in Micronesia a few years ago, a question was put to me about purity of ingredients in potions and would substandard ingredients make a difference in anything but potency.  Since I am the most recent wizard to create a Philosopher’s Stone, I took that as my example, and I invited several students to join me in creating a sub-standard Stone.  Only Alchemy students were invited, and only four were chosen to participate, although interest in the project was raised in many Alchemical Societies.

“I gave a few interviews on the subject, but they only mentioned the creation of a new Stone as I wanted to keep the particulars away from the general public.  What we discovered during the experiment is that substandard ingredients made for an unstable Stone, and the one we created in my lab was particularly explosive.  In fact, I had only removed the explosive component from the Stone when I was visited by my old friend Albus Dumbledore, with whom I worked often in the past.  The visit was a surprise, but I was happy enough to host him and show him around.  It was only much after he left me that I discovered the False Stone was missing.  Of course, I do keep trackers on all of my projects, just in case of occasions such as this.”

McGonagall’s eyes narrowed as she studied Dumbledore.  He remained outwardly composed, but she had known him for many years and could see signs of stress in his eyes.  “Dumbledore informed us that the Stone was donated for a project of his,” she said dryly, and Dumbledore flinched minutely.

“Oh, no,” said Flamel sternly, “I would never ‘loan out’ something as dangerous as this.  Before I removed the explosive component, this False Stone could have leveled this castle and the surrounding fifty miles.  As it is, I will be taking this item back to my laboratory and dissembling it, storing the various components in sealed and protected vials so that they can be studied by my students.  It was much too volatile to be removed from the protected stasis it was held in, and the removal triggered the tracking charm that I placed on it for safety purposes.”

“I see,” said McGonagall, eyes never leaving Dumbledore.  “And that tracking charm led you to Hogwarts?”

“No,” said Flamel as he pocketed the Stone, “the tracker led me to Gringott’s, and Vault number Seven Hundred Thirteen.”

At this point, McGonagall remembered that a goblin had entered the Great Hall along with two other wizards, and she turned her attention to the meeting table once again--only to see Professor Quirrell trying to slip quietly out of the room.

Very quickly, one of the two mysterious wizards caught up with Quirrell, holding him tightly by the shoulder.  The goblin, Ragnok Sharptooth himself, approached the barely-struggling teacher.

“Do you know,” asked Ragnok quietly, so as to keep the intercourse private, “what happens to those who try to steal from Gringott’s?  We have a warning against theft posted at the entrance to the Bank, but so few question it or try to test the magic behind it.”  Quirrell began to tremble in his captor’s arms, but the hold tightened, keeping him standing.  “Magic, Wilde Magic, takes great offense to those who try to take what is not theirs, especially from Gringott’s Bank and the Goblin Nation, because we swore at the beginning of Magic to protect Wizardkind.  You, Professor Quirinius Quirrell, have moved against the Goblin Nation, and you are now paying the price—even though your attempted theft was a failure.”

Dumbledore had, of course, moved away from Nicolas and his accusations, and moved toward his Professor, hoping to protect his staff from unfair accusations.

“Quirinius?  What is Master Ragnok talking about?  What theft?”

Ragnok turned his narrowed eyes to Dumbledore.  “The very day that your lackey removed that item from the bank under your orders, this man entered the bank and commandeered one of our Vault Carts, and tried to break into vault seven hundred thirteen.   By then that vault was empty of course, but our security protocols were active anyway because it was a high security vault.  Once those protocols were breached, Wilde Magic took over.  What is now happening to Quirinius Quirrell is what happened to Carolius Binns and his family: the Magic is leaving his Core.  See the trembles and shakes?  When he speaks, does he stammer?  If he cast a simple spell, would the magic work?  It is out of our hands now, Dumbledore; what’s done is done, and we shall be taking the thief back to Gringott’s for a formal trial.  He may survive the ordeal, but I make no promises.”

While Ragnok was speaking, Quirrell began shaking violently and spittle trickled from the corners of his mouth.  Dumbledore tried to intervene; reaching out to touch Quirrell, but the large wizard kept a tight hold on the quivering man and pulled a black disc from his pocket.  In a flash, the wizard and his captive disappeared with the portkey, and Dumbledore was left clutching at thin air.

“I’m afraid, Headmaster Dumbledore,” said Ragnok wryly before port keying away, “that you seem to be short a professor.”

**Weasley—**

Arthur Apparated to the edge of the Weasley wards and slowly walked up the path to the house.  They’d given him a lot to think about, Axesmith, Manzini, and Black, and Arthur knew he’d also received a sort of second chance; a way to change his family for the better, in some small way.  He would have to take charge again instead of keeping distant from the daily happenings of his family.  Somehow, some time, he had lost the power of the Head of House.  It wasn’t totally gone, or that contract business would have been much worse, but Arthur would have to work to bring it all back under control.

He opened the kitchen door expecting to find Molly inside working on dinner, but the room was warm and empty.  Clearly she had been here, because the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the room, but the kitchen was empty now.  Sighing deeply, Arthur opened the cold-box and pulled out a glass water jug and poured himself a glass, washing the dust and stale air from his mouth.

“Arthur, you’re home!”  Molly came from down the stair carrying an empty laundry basket.  “You haven’t been at work most of the day!”

Arthur glanced at the clock on the wall just outside the kitchen—the damned clock that had cost him his relationship with his oldest sons—and grimaced.  Of course she would be watching that like a hawk, always keeping close tabs on her family.  The clock was a modified Life-Cycle Clock, usually used by medical personnel to keep watch over several patients at once.  They usually have condition settings like Sleeping Quietly, Coma, Seizure, Fever, Vomiting, Heavy Bleeding, Internal Damage, Brain Injury, Awake, Fever Break, Out of Coma, and Contagious, and the multiple ‘hands’ showed pictures of the patients in the medical ward.  As a diagnostic and care instrument, Life-Cycle Clocks were invaluable and were authorized for medical use only.

The clock in the Weasley home, however, came from Molly’s family.  Molly’s great-grandfather, Pernisius Prewett, was a renowned healer, and the Life-Cycle Clock was passed to along to Molly before she married Arthur.  The Weasley clock, however, had been altered.  There were nine ‘hands’ on the clock, representing each member of the Weasley family (although two of them were non-functioning and blacked-out), and the settings were re-labeled to read: At School, At Work, In the Garden, Travelling, and Mortal Danger.  The remaining spaces were blank, but would magically update if a family member was somewhere unusual—like Gringott’s.  If Arthur had been injured and sent to the hospital, his ‘hand’ would have moved to a blank setting and that would change to read ‘St. Mungo’s Hospital’.  But Gringott’s was not an option, and would never appear on this clock; Goblin Magic forbade it.  That was one reason Arthur’s older sons were estranged from the family: their employment required secrecy and Molly refused to remove them from the clock that would reveal information not for public eyes.  Charlie, the second son, worked with Dragons in a secret and distant preserve somewhere in Romania, and the location could not be revealed to anyone.  Bill, the eldest, worked as a Curse-breaker for Gringott’s and the goblins demanded that his movements not be tracked by anyone.  Both sons deactivated their clock hands themselves, effectively removing them from the family—although Arthur still received letters from both, addressed to him at his work office so that Molly never saw and read them.

Realizing that Molly was waiting for an explanation, Arthur shook off his musing and said, “I was called into Gringott’s for a meeting, and it took quite a lot of time.”

Molly wrinkled her nose in distaste, silently showing her opinion of the bank.  “What sort of meeting was it, dear?” she asked as she carried her basket to the parlour.

“Oh, um, it was a sort of interview,” Arthur stammered.  “For a job.  In a different department at the Ministry.”

Molly turned to face him, delight brightening her eyes.  “A new department!  Oh, how wonderful, Arthur!  Is there a promotion or salary rise involved?”

Arthur frowned slightly.  “I’m not sure, Molly.  I suppose there might be more money involved, but the workload will be heavier.  I won’t be in the office all of the time with this job.”   Arthur’s expression cleared, realizing that this may be a good enough reason to take down the damnable clock altogether.  “Actually, I’m only home for a short time now, as I have to go abroad for training for this new job.”

Molly suddenly ceased folding the laundry and shot a glare in his direction.  “Where are you going for training, and what type of training is it?”

Arthur shoved his hands into the front pockets of his tweed robes.  “I’m not sure of the type of training, but there is a lot I have to learn for the job.  I’ll be leaving from Gringott’s at nine in the morning on Thursday, and I’ll be gone for one week—to the Netherlands.”

Molly narrowed her eyes in suspicion.  “What type of Ministry job had training in the Netherlands?”

“Oh, well, the department I’m training for isn’t really run by the Ministry.  It’s run by the ICWW, and it has offices in every country around the world.  As I said, I’m not sure what type of training I’ll be doing, but it has to be on-site there.”

Molly sighed.  “Well, I suppose I’ll have to wash all of your best robes, then, so you’ll be presentable.”

Arthur sat on the sofa beside her, separated only by the pile of clean laundry.  “You won’t have to wash any extra clothing, Molly.  It was explained to me that because there is a strict uniform dress-code within this department, they will be supplying me with clothing appropriate to the job.  I’ll only have to pack travel clothes, pajamas, and toiletries.”

“What!” screeched Molly.  “Arthur William Weasley, what department are you getting yourself involved with?”

Arthur winced, placing a gentling hand on her shoulder.  “I’m going to be joining the Outreach Office at the Ministry.  They’re the people that go out and introduce the magical world to muggle-born children before they start school at Hogwarts.  As such, I shall have to dress as a muggle, and I expect the training is to get me up to speed on muggle traditions so that I don’t stand out too badly.”  Molly got a stubborn look on her face, as if she was about to argue the importance of such a position, but Arthur stalled her, saying, “This is what I really want, Molly, and the job is _important_.  This could lead to great things for me, Molly, and I could use your support.  I’ll be home before the children get off to school, and we have time this week for that shopping trip to get a new owl like I promised.”

Molly huffed, but relaxed.  “I know this will be a good opportunity, Arthur, so, yes, I will support you.”

Arthur studied his wife for a quiet moment.  Molly had come from an affluent family, but they dropped from public view after the deaths of Molly’s twin brothers in the Voldemort War.  Arthur remembered how Molly carried herself in school; so confident and sure of herself.  Now she seemed happy to care for house and home and children, but he saw how she looked on payday, when bills were due and there wasn’t much left for luxury items.  His family never went without necessities, but they often had to create their own fun and recreation.

“Molly, you do know I would do anything for this family, right?”

“Of course I do, Arthur.”

“Do you ever worry that you married beneath your station when you settled for me?”

Molly gaped at him for a moment.  “You must be joking!  I married you for love, Arthur.  I stayed with you for love.  I had children with you out of love.  I regret none of it!”

Arthur smiled, nodded, and kissed her forehead lightly.  “I feel the same way, Molly-wobbles.  Now, I need to go and tell the children that I’ll be going away for a short while, but that we’re going shopping tomorrow.  I’ll also tell them to come in and wash for dinner.”

Arthur stepped outside and took a deep breath of clean summer air.  In the distance, he could see three of his sons flying on broomsticks—that would be Fred, George, and Ronald.  Percy would not doubt be upstairs, reading or some such.  Now was not the time to bring up contracts or the possibility (or probability) of Molly trying to usurp the Head of House power from him.

It could wait until he returned from training.

**Hogwarts(Board of Governors)—**

Lady Augusta Longbottom sat in her cushioned leather chair and studied her fellow members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.  This was an appointed body, imbued with the tasks of hiring teaching staff, training groundskeepers, setting menus, approving textbooks, and paying salaries.  All magical schools, from the basic primary schools that taught those who were not home-schooled to the Magical Universities that educated beyond basic education (but under Mastery Level), were under the purview of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards.  Money allocated for each school was given through Gringott’s Bank, and it was up to the Governors to decide how it was distributed.  The Ministry was never involved in the educational system, and so it was the very last institution to become corrupted.

And here they all sat, ready to hear a report from Lady Augusta about how that last safe border has been breached from within.

“Alright, Augusta,” sneered Mathias Greengrass in an officious manner, “just tell us why we’re meeting so close to the start of term when our next scheduled meeting is not until October.”

Lady Augusta could feel her eye begin to twitch at the disrespect in his voice, but she pushed down her annoyance.  She had other, more pressing things to deal with once this meeting was over, and she was due to meet her grandson later that evening, when he would be emerging from the Temporal Chamber in time to have a late supper with all of the families.

“I wish to address the most recent cost-of-living rise we authorized for the teaching staff at Hogwarts.”

“What of it?” asked Esmeralda Halworth.  “The teachers have to support themselves when school is not in session.  Unless we want to risk our educators taking better-paying jobs in the summer—jobs they could conceivably not leave once term starts again—then we have to give them a decent salary.”

“And I am not disputing that, Esmeralda,” said Lady Augusta consolingly.  “What I mean to dispute is the fact that we gave a cost-of-living rise to a professor that is not living.”

“Do you mean that this professor lives at the castle all year around?” asked Greengrass.

“No,” replied Lady Augusta archly.  “I mean that this professor does not _live_ at all.  Professor Binns, who is the instructor of Magical History, is a ghost—and he has been for quite some time.  We are paying a salary to a teacher who does not require one.”

“If he is not living, which I agree is unusual, then surely he is not actually getting paid,” said Lucius Malfoy.  “I mean, it is not as if he needs the money.”

Lady Augusta opened his satchel and pulled several notarized documents from it.  “He is receiving a salary, of that I can assure you.  I have here all of the documents needed to trace all of his salary payments, courtesy of Gringott’s, and they not only show monthly payments to Cuthbert Binns in amounts equal to the salaries of the other tenured professors, they show that Binns has a higher salary that some because he has been teaching there for so long.  There is, however, another point of contention here, and that is the final destination of those payments.”

“Whatever do you mean, Lady Augusta?” asked Mayhew Carbury.

“I mean,” said Lady Augusta as she passed around copies of her documentation, “that the final destination of Binns’ salary payments is not in Binns’ personal account, but in fact is in the personal account of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore.  It appears that he has been skimming the total salary of ghostly Professor Binns—and small parts of the salaries of the rest of the staff—into his own personal accounts.  The Hogwarts account manager put the trace out for me yesterday, and they are deeply disturbed by the findings—as is the ICWW Educational Office.  We were appointed to oversee Hogwarts and to treat the staff with good regard, and the Headmaster has been abusing our inattention for many years.  I see nothing good coming of this.”

The entire Board spent several long minutes with their heads together, muttering over the gross oversight and mis-use of educational funds.  They were an appointed body, and as such they did not receive a salary—but they did receive honors as the Board of Governors, and the British public (the wizarding branch) looked up to them all, knowing that their children were in good hands.  If a scandal such as this got out, their appointments would be lost and so would their credibility.

Finally, Mathias Greengrass looked up from his pondering and asked, “What do you suggest we do, so late in the summer?”

Lady Augusta gifted him with a haughty smile.  “I suggest two things.  First, we ask the goblins to do a full audit so that they will be able to retrieve the ill-managed money and place it into the proper accounts.  The Binns money, of course, will be placed back into the Educational Vault, since he certainly will not be needing it.”

“That is most reasonable,” said Lucius Malfoy grudgingly.  “What is the second thing?”

“That we request an emergency professor to take over the History of Magic class immediately.  I have had accounts from several independent graduates of Hogwarts—from three separate decades—that mention the History of Magic class being somewhat lacking and completely irrelevant.  These reports are from graduates that have moved on to magical universities in France, Italy, and the United States, and they all reported being ill-informed in basic historical fact.  Clearly Professor Binns was not only a non-living teacher incapable of learning new things himself, he was also a sub-grade instructor.  My grandson will be attending Hogwarts this year, and I would like for him to receive the best possible education.  If he cannot get that in Britain, I shall send him elsewhere.”

The Board voted on both items, and both items passed unanimously.

**Black(Malfoy/Malfoy)—**

Narcissa waited for her husband to return from the emergency meeting of the Hogwarts Board of Governors.  She was writing a letter to her sister while absently watching her son, Draco, fly about the garden on his racing broom.  Earlier he had been bemoaning the unfair rule that first years could not have their own brooms at school, so Narcissa suggested that he fly as much as possible in the time he had before going off to Hogwarts.

Mimsey, her personal house elf, popped in to inform her of Lucius’ arrival, so she set aside her papers and called to Draco to inform him that she was going inside and that he should be getting ready for dinner soon.  Then she walked through the main floor until she reached her husband’s office.  Knocking firmly on the door, Narcissa waited until she heard Lucius’ call before opening the door.

“Narcissa,” said Lucius smoothly, “how was your day today?”

Narcissa smiled, basking in the attention he always gave her.  “I had a lovely day, thank you.  The roses in the south garden are giving their final bloom, so I tended there for a bit.  I’ve also been making up some correspondence.  How was the meeting?”

Lucius rolled his eyes in an undignified manner before sipping from the crystal goblet in his hand.  “There has been an...unfortunate…development at Hogwarts, and we were required to call in an emergency replacement professor.  I honestly had no idea that the teaching staff was that unaware there, to not notice that one of their own was giving bad information, but we have it corrected in time for Draco to attend.”

“That’s good,” said Narcissa as she took a seat in front of his desk.  “Lucius, there’s something that I must tell you, and I admit to being hesitant to bring it up.”

Lucius studied her over his glass, noting her nervous demeanor.  Narcissa was never outwardly discomposed.  He set down the crystal goblet and leaned forward.  “You have nothing to fear from me, Narcissa.  You may talk to me about anything.”

Narcissa nodded, resolved to get the unpleasantness over with quickly.  “As you know, Sirius Black has regained his freedom and taken the Lordship of the Most Honorable Noble and Ancient House of Black.”  Lucius nodded, so she continued.  “The Lord Black holds primacy over lesser houses within the family, including Malfoy and LeStrange.  Sirius has reinstated my sister Andromeda into the family as a Daughter of Black, and he says he is trying to repair the damage to the House that the followers of the Dark have done.  He has promised not to dissolve our marriage, so long as you are no longer a follower of the Dark.  Lucius, I need to believe that you really have turned from the Dark.  I have loved you forever, but if he ordered it, I would leave you and undergo the treatment that he would offer.  I need to have this family stay intact.”

In an uncharacteristic move, Lucius walked around his desk and knelt before his wife, taking her hands into his own.  “Narcissa, I will admit to entering a marriage contract with your family because the Black name was powerful, but I know that I would never have been happy with Andromeda.  You have such a spark within you that you brighten every day I spend with you.  Yes, I was turned by the thought of power, and I followed the Dark into a horrible place.  I was misled; I see that now.  I let my beliefs in Pureblood superiority blind me to the narrow view that this nation has.  That is one reason I wanted Draco to attend Durmstrang—so that he could see how magic works in other parts of the world.  But I was truthful when I said that I wanted out from under the power of the Dark.”

Narcissa sighed in relief.  “That makes me so happy, dearest.  But Sirius wanted to warn me that the threat to our happiness is not gone yet, because he has been hearing whisperings of the possible return of the Dark Lord, and he wants to know that you have nothing to do with that.”

Lucius paled, and he stood abruptly.  “I, too, have heard the rumors.  They disturb me greatly, because for all he touted Pureblood Superiority, the Dark Lord was more concerned with torture and death.  He claimed that he wanted to show how great he could make our world, but he spent all of his time killing or cursing.  That wasn’t making the world better; that was destroying it.  I wanted a better world for my son, not a dead one.”

“If you hear anything, Lucius, anything at all, you must tell Sirius.  He has powerful friends.  More powerful than you could ever know, and they could protect us within the Black Family Primacy.”

**Ministry—**

“I must say, this whole thing has been a horrendous disaster!”

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge was pacing around his office as if his pants were on fire.  Amelia Bones actually agreed with the man, but not for the reasons he was stating.  Fudge seemed to think that losing his Head Auror was the worst of his worries, but Amelia knew better.

“Minister,” she said, interrupting his tirade, “it is up to you to keep the wizarding populace from panicking.  The headlines were bad, of course, but it’s not like _you’re_ the corrupt Minister that was arrested.  All you have to do is prove yourself to be twice as honorable and trustworthy as Bagnold, and you can make Wizarding Britain great again.  Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do have a department to run and a Head Auror to replace.”

She left the Minister’s office before he could say anything else to her and rode the lift down a level to her own office.  It had only been two weeks since the ICWW inquiry upset the British Ministry and turned everything on its edge.  Now they were looking forward to very public trials for very public officials (past and present), and the corruption was going to come out to the public.  Sirius Black was very noticeable as he walked around the Ministry, and by now everybody knew the story about his unfair incarceration and Barty Crouch’s involvement.

Soon, they would all know about how Barty Crouch helped his Death-eater son escape Azkaban and kept him under the _Imperius_ Curse for so many years.  The people might also hear about how Barty Crouch almost drove an innocent house elf insane, but Amelia doubted that many would care about that.  Not every wizarding family could support a house elf, and those that could often treated them like invisible slaves.  At least in Britain they did.  Amelia had trained in many different countries while becoming an Auror, and she remembered the differences in attitudes in every one.  Magic was respected and house elves were revered, and the population was healthy and free from Darkness for the most part.  The same could not be said for wizarding Great Britain.

Once she reached her own office, Amelia read through personnel files that were piled on her desk.  She had to appoint a new Head Auror quickly, and she wanted to make the right choice.  Every Auror in her department applied for the job, even the new ones.  There were also files from Aurors from different countries, but Amelia didn’t think a foreign Head would be well received.  Perhaps she could ask Alastair Moody to come back from retirement.  He was more than a little shell-shocked from the last war, but he was a damned good Auror and could teach the newbies a thing or two.  Scowling at the stack of files, Amelia pushed back her chair and walked to her Floo.  If ‘Mad-eye’ Moody would not come back to work, perhaps he could offer advice on possible choices.

 

@@@

 

On August twentieth, in the middle of the night, while the Wizarding World slept, all of the members of the British Wizengamot and the high-ranking Ministry staff turned silently in their sleep and began to dream the same dream.

Merlin—it _had_ to be Merlin—was standing on a cliff top overlooking a raging sea.  The sky above was the same storm-grey, with violent dark clouds surging to and fro and bright purple lightning bolts shooting forth to pierce the rocky ground around him.  He was old, and yet ageless, with a long silver beard that touched his belt and flowing silver-and-black hair that rose and fell with the wind.  There were deep lines around his eyes and his brow was furrowed in displeasure.  He was dressed, not in blue robes, as often depicted in artwork, but in dirty khaki trousers and a blue chambray work shirt, with a cracked brown leather belt and dusty brown work boots.

He was holding his stave—a sturdy oak branch topped with a raw crystal point still embedded in stone.

He was staring straight forward and his mouth was not moving, but he was speaking nonetheless.

_Rulers of Magical Britain, I bring you a warning:_

_Your unwillingness to move past your prejudices and fears will keep you from becoming a full partner in the world at large.  When I brought Magic forth from Avalon, I did so with the understanding that Magic would protect the world we live in.  My first and only rule was ‘Keep the Magic Pure’. Magic should never be used to subjugate those without it.  Magic should never be used to gain power.  Magic should never be used to gain wealth.  Magic **should** be used to feed and nurture the earth we live on.  All magical beings and creatures should be treated with care and respect._

_Since time began and Wilde Magic spread across the world, there have been rare cases when Magicals have forgotten those rules, and Magic was taken from them._

_Magical Britain is in grave danger of becoming another such case.  You give the non-magicals sub-human names like ‘muggle’ and ‘squib’ and separate them from your life experience.  You treat intelligent magical beings that are non-human in nature with distain and contempt.  You invite Darkness to enter your lives at great risk to your Personal and Familial Magic, and act surprised with Dark Lords threaten to overtake your society.  All around you, the Wizarding Societies have moved forward along with non-magical societies, inviting innovation and experimentation, but you hold your people in the past.  Every bit of your magical society, from fashion to technology, remains planted deep in shadow._

_Time has stopped here, and Magic will stagnate._

_When Magic stagnates, it dies._

_Stay on your current course, and Magic will leave Britain forever._

_The time for change is now._

_Ignore my warning at your own peril.  My return is nigh._

When dawn broke on the twenty-first of August, everyone who had the dream was left with an unsettled feeling deep in their Cores, but none could remember why.

**Black(Malfoy/LeStrange)—**

Sirius Black was in a right state.

He was supposed to be attending a tour of the British Museum of Natural History with his godson and his friends, but instead he was called into the Ministry for an emergency meeting with an ICWW healer.

It seems that, while Rodolphus and Rabastan LeStrange died quickly from their exposure to the now-removed Dementors and the Darkness on their Magical Cores, Bellatrix was lingering.  Barely.

With all of the whisperings about a possible return of Voldemort (and the possibility of more Soul Fragments dotting the landscape), Sirius needed to hear what Bellatrix knew—and she certainly would _never_ speak to him.

So Sirius was storming his way through the Ministry with the healer on his heels, headed for the Aparation Point so that he could get to Azkaban before she breathed her last.

“Lord Black?  Might I have a quick word?”   The question halted Sirius in his steps, and he turned to face Lucius Malfoy—a very trepidatious Lucius Malfoy.

Sirius raised one eyebrow at the man, and he said quickly, “It is very important, and Narcissa made it perfectly clear that I should bring something like this to your attention.”

Sirius turned to the healer and said, “I’ll just be a moment. With any luck, she’s still breathing.”  He then pulled Lucius into one of the lifts and shut and sealed the door, placing it on Emergency Halt to prevent anyone from interrupting them. 

“What can I do for you, Lucius?”

Malfoy quickly composed himself before speaking.  “I know you have suspicions of the Dark Lord’s possible return.  I am here to confirm those suspicions.  When the Dark Lord was vanquished, my Mark faded to a pale scar.  Recently it has begun to grow darker, so that it is now almost visible.  This could only happen if somehow the Dark Lord had regained some semblance of power.”

Sirius pondered that statement for a moment before answering.  “I really need to know how he’s going to make his miraculous reappearance, but the only source of information I might have is fading quickly and is not likely go give any hints to me, but she just might trust you.”

“And who is this source?” Lucius asked haughtily.

Sirius grimaced.  “Bellatrix.  She’s somehow managed to survive her husband, but she’s not long for this world, and she was one of Voldemort’s most trusted lackeys.  If he had any grand plan, he may have told her what it was.  We have to get there quickly, though.  That healer out there told me her vitals were dropping.”

Lucius nodded.  “If it will help prevent that madman from returning, I will do what I can.”

Sirius nodded and unsealed the lift, opening the gate to the Atrium.  Lucius followed at a polite distance.  “I have been wondering,” he said as they approached the Aparation Point, “just how did you manage to survive Azkaban for ten years?”

Sirius smirked at him and said, “I’m special.”

 

Moments later, Lucius was being led to the cell containing a rapidly dying Bellatrix LeStrange, his wife’s sister.  He briefly considered what he would tell Narcissa after this day, but realized that she should not hear that he was the family member that saw her last.  Narcissa might have fond memories of the woman from when they were children, but Bellatrix had long passed from innocent child to psychotic killer, and Narcissa hated what her sister had become.

The woman on the cot inside the cell was almost unrecognizable.  Her once-vibrant and curly hair was hanging in lank knots around her face and shoulders, and her skin was pasty and dry with raw patches bleeding on her cheeks and hands.  Her eyes were cloudy, as if she were blind, but she seemed aware that someone had entered the room.

“Who is it?” she rasped.  “Who has come to see me?”

“Bellatrix, it’s Lucius.  I have a message for you.”

Bellatrix grinned a bloody smile, and one loose tooth fell from her mouth.  “Have you news from our Lord?”

Lucius swallowed thickly.  “I do, Bella.  My Mark is getting darker.  The Dark Lord gathers strength.”

Bellatrix began to cackle before coughing up blood clots.  Lucius knew he would have to act quickly to get any information.  “I have to know, did our Lord tell you of his plans to return?  I need to help him, but I know so little.”

“Oh,” she said gleefully, “he trusted sweet Bella more than you?  I can bring him back.  I can.  I can.”  Her voice took on a childlike quality, and she began to hum softly to herself.

“Bella, I fear you may not be much help in your condition.  Tell me!  Tell me what I must do to bring our Lord back to power!”

“The Dark Lord told me!” she sang.  “The Book, the Cup, the Locket, the Crown, the Ring!  Ha!  The Book, the Cup, the Locket, the Crown, the Ring!”

“Yes, Bella!”  Lucius knelt closer to his sister-in-law and listened closely, so as to catch every word.  “Where can I find these items?”  He had no idea what book she was talking about, much less the rest of it, but if anything useful could be pulled from her nonsense he would need all of the information.

“He gave me the Cup!  He hid the Ring in his mother’s house.  The Crown is in the Castle, where all Crowns must be!  Tee-hee!  He hid the Locket with Grindlewald’s Army, so must he have a sacrifice to bring it home, but he gave the Book to you!”

“To me?” Lucius’ brow furrowed in concentration.  “I have the book?”

Bellatrix’s eyes rolled in her head and she coughed again.  “A diary, he gave to you, with orders to wait.  Now is the time!”

Lucius remembered now: a small school diary, embossed with the name Tom Marvolo Riddle.  The pages were blank, so no instructions were there.

“What must I do with this Book, Bella?  Time grows short, and we must work quickly!”

Bellatrix laughed wildly, spittle flying from her mouth.  “You must give the book to your wittle baby boy.  Tell him to write in it, to ask it questions.  Tell him to _confide_ in it!  The spirit of our Lord will use the Book to speak with the boy—it will take him over and our Lord can be reborn into the boy’s body!”

Lucius felt bile rise in his throat, but he schooled his expression so that her blind eyes would see nothing.  “What then, Bella?  What happens after Draco is…gone?”  Oh, how it hurt to ask the question, but he needed to know.  Even now, a curious child could accidentally find that diary in his office.

“Our Lord will tell you how to find the other artifacts, and you will bring them together!  Our Lord will be complete!  Lucius,” she said reaching for him, “you must bring him to me!  He must know I gave aid to bring him back!”

Lucius patted her hand gently, albeit reluctantly.  “He will know, Bella.  He will know that you were the most faithful of us all.”  Lucius stood and turned away from the dying woman, leaving the cell behind him even as he heard her calling, not for her husband but for Voldemort.  Lucius shuddered and quickened his steps.

When he reached the guard station on the main floor of the prison (and hadn’t he been truly lucky in avoiding a sentence there all those years ago), Sirius quickly approached him. 

“Well, did she say anything useful?”

Lucius’ lip curled.  “It depends on what you mean by ‘useful’.  She told me that an item left in my possession could possess my son—would _have_ to possess my son—and lead to the return of the Dark Lord.  Does that make any sense at all to you?”

“Yeah,” said Sirius grimly, “it does.  Let’s get out of this horrible place, and you can tell what you know to me and someone who might be of more help.”

 

 

Moments later, Lucius found himself ensconced in a highly warded office in Gringott’s Bank, facing Sirius Black, two goblins, and a human he had never before seen or met.

“Lucius,” said Sirius, “I would like to introduce you to Clan Leader and Bank Director Ragnok Sharptooth, Healer Bonecracker, and Agamemnon the Great.”  The human winced slightly and Sirius blinked at him.  “Agamemnon is one of the First Magicals from the realm of Avalon, and his main purview is the sanctity of Magical Souls.”

Lucius gaped briefly at the strange man, who returned his gaze evenly.

“What Lord Black means is, I am one of the very first Magical persons to come into being after Merlin was birthed from Wilde Magic.  I am a true Magical Warrior and soldier for the Light, and my concern here is the splitting of a Magical Soul in such a way as to corrupt the ambient Magic of an entire magical enclave.  We know that Tom Marvolo Riddle, also mostly known as Lord Voldemort, has left a Soul Fragment behind during his last act of terrorism, but there is a concern that there may be more left behind.”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle?” asked Lucius faintly.  “That was his real name?  The Dark Lord left in my safe-keeping a diary embossed with that name.  It’s blank and empty, but it fairly reeks of power.”

Agamemnon furrowed his brow in concern.  “Perhaps that diary holds another fragment.  Tell me, what news did you uncover when speaking with your sister-in-law?”

Lucius straightened in his chair, knowing without a doubt that what he was about to impart was direly important.  “Bellatrix was mostly out of her mind with weakness and pain, but she did ramble about the Dark Lord’s plans to return.  I can confirm, with the reappearance of my Dark Mark, that this is certainly true.  She told me that the diary he left with me was key in the reappearance, and I was to give it to my child.”  Lucius again swallowed bile at the thought of his only child, his heir, becoming possessed by that madman.  “She said the diary would overtake my son, and he would _become_ the Dark Lord eventually.”

“Good lord!” Sirius exclaimed, and Agamemnon nodded in agreement.

“Certainly that diary contains a fragment, and if it was meant to possess, then that fragment is the strongest.  Perhaps it is the first Soul Fragment that splintered off.  Did this Bellatrix mention more, perhaps?”

Lucius nodded.  “Yes, she mentioned a book, which is the diary, a cup—which was left with her, so it may be in her vault here, a lost crown, a ring, and a locket.  She told me that the crown was in the castle and the locket was hidden with Grindlewald’s army, whatever that means, and the ring was in ‘his mother’s home’.  Beyond all of that, Bellatrix made little sense.  She was lucid when discussing the Dark Lord, but only then.  She was a cackling mess the rest of the time.”

“And you are certain what you heard was truth, and not the ramblings of a dying madwoman?”

Lucius inclined his head.  “I made certain to convince her that I would be taking her place to bring the Dark Lord back to power.  She believed me, as she had no reason not to.”

Agamemnon nodded.  “Right,” he said gravely, “you should bring that diary here so that the goblins can rid it of the Soul Fragment.  I’ll return to Summerisle and check the Signature Vault to find this Riddle’s heritage.  We will need to know his mother so that we can find that ring, if nothing else.”

Lucius grimaced and asked, “Do you think the Dark Lord can really return to life and power?”

Agamemnon shook his head.  “Not at this point.  By leaving five distinct Soul Fragments behind, there was a ritual that could be performed.  Those fragments would have corresponded with the five Natural Elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit.  Along with those five elements, he would have to reunite his disembodied spirit with an empty body.  But this so-called Dark Lord made two mistakes along the way: firstly, he accidentally left behind a sixth fragment, negating the elemental ritual completely, and secondly, he temporarily possessed a young school teacher who tried to steal from this institution and was apprehended recently.  Healer Bonecracker managed to remove the spirit from the young man, but he is physically weakened and will still have to face punishment for the attempted theft, as it was _his_ body that did the thieving.  He will lose his magic, I’m afraid, and will have to be reconditioned to live without it.”

“That is unfortunate,” said Lucius grimly, “but I am gratified to know that the soul of my son is not in danger.”

“Not from Voldemort,” said Sirius, “but you’re still teaching him that Pure-blood Supremacy crap, and that’s not going to do him any good.”

**Hogwarts(Teachers’ Lounge)—**

With barely a week until the start of the new term, Headmaster Dumbledore had retreated into his office to deal with ‘personal business’ and left Deputy Headmistress McGonagall to deal with the disaster of finding not one, but two new teachers.

Quirinius Quirrell was, of course, not returning to teach _any_ subject as he had most likely lost his magic as a result of terribly bad choices, and the Board of Governors had decreed that the History of Magic professor, Professor Binns, had to be replaced with a living being who actually taught credible and relevant history.  McGonagall had been educated outside of Britain, so she had been unaware of the horrible information that Binns was imparting on the students of Hogwarts, but she investigated and found that it was all true.

While she mourned the bad education that her current and former students received, it was now her task to fill the slots and to deal with preparing for the upcoming term.  Professor Trelawny had left the school earlier in the day to meet with a member of some Oracle Society that McGonagall had never heard of.  McGonagall had never had much trust in the business of divination, and certainly felt that it was not a subject to be taught in a school, but she allowed Trelawny to go about her business since the professor had actually finished pre-term preparations for her own classes.

The rest of the good professors were gathered in the Teacher’s Lounge on the first floor of Hogwarts Castle, just down a short hall from the Great Hall.  Professors Sprout, Flitwick, and Mercks were sitting near the cold fireplace, debating merits of one professional Quidditch team over another.  Professors Babbling and Ames were discussing knitting patterns under a stained-glass window.  Professor Snape was glowering at a Potions journal while McGonagall read official correspondence pertaining to school business.

“It’s all rather exciting this term, isn’t it Minerva?” asked Professor Flitwick.  “This being the year that Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts!  Imagine, The Boy Who Lived in my classroom!”

McGonagall raised one eyebrow in the direction of her miniscule colleague and said, “I should remind everyone here that using that eponym will be forbidden during this term.  Several lawsuits were issued against persons using that terminology, as it was deemed disrespectful to a boy who was orphaned in the war.”

Flitwick flushed with shame while Snape snorted.  “Already the boy is acting arrogant and insufferable, and he’s not even here yet.  I simply can’t wait to deal with him personally.”

“Then,” said McGonagall archly, “you may be pleased to know that Mr. Potter will not be attending your class this term.”

Snape dropped his journal into his lap and he stared at her incredulously.  “Unless I am mistaken, all students at this school must take Potions for at least five terms.”

“You are not mistaken, Severus.  And Mr. Potter _will_ be taking Potions, of course, but not with _you_.”

Snape picked up the dropped journal and opened it again.  “I fail to see how any of that is possible.”

McGonagall smirked slightly and held up a letter from her stack.  “There is a little used codicil in the Hogwarts Student Charter that outlines privileges for sons and daughters of Ancient and Noble Houses.  One of those privileges is the ability, at any need, to receive private tuition for any subject during the school term so long as the student takes most of the classes offered with Hogwarts staff.  Mr. Potter is one of three incoming First Years that will take those privileges, and they will be having private tuition in both Potions and History of Magic.  According to this letter, all three students have had private instruction and have passed ICWW level OWLs for both subjects, so they would be advanced of the rest of the First Years anyway, and all schedules could not be rearranged to place them accordingly.”

Ignoring the stunned stares from the rest of the staff, McGonagall opened another official letter and said, “Now, let us discuss the two replacement instructors that the ICWW was kind enough to find for us.”

**Weasley—**

Arthur was escorted into a bright and shining white brick building on a non-descript street.  There were no noticeable landmarks, and the natural décor was easily forgotten.

The interior of the building was the exact opposite, as far as Arthur was concerned.

There was a finely decorated great room just inside the door, with cozy sofas and chairs, and marble-topped end tables.  Along one wall was a long bookshelf loaded down with texts and framed photographs.  Along another wall was a shelving unit displaying several artifacts that Arthur did not recognize.

Through a wide archway was a kitchen and dormitory dining area with a long table and multiple wooden chairs.  Arthur recognized the cold-box and an oven, but there were appliances that he did not know.  While he wanted very much to explore the kitchen, his escort was moving through another archway and down another hall, so Arthur scrambled to follow.

He was led to a richly appointed bedroom with a full bed and dark wood end table and wardrobe.  There was a curtained window, but when Arthur looked he saw that the window was bricked-up.  Across the hall from the bedroom was a dormitory-style bathroom, with several shower and toilet stalls and a long row of sinks with a marble shelf over them.

Arthur dropped his small carpet bag on his bed and returned to the great room, where several other people were gathered on the sofas.  Arthur took a seat in an over-stuffed armchair and looked around at the others.  He didn’t know them; they were mostly younger than him, in their twenties or early thirties.  But he thought he might have known their faces.  As soon as everyone was settled, an elegant woman came into the room.

“Welcome, everyone,” she said with a soft Swedish accent.  “You have all been chosen to man the Outreach Office in the British Ministry of Magic.  Because that office has been all but abandoned in the past fifty years, there is really no one in that country prepared to train you.  Also, because Wizarding Britain is a bit backwards in regards to the rest of the population, there is no easy way to get you all up to speed on relating to the non-magical communities.  Therefore, this facility was specifically appointed to bring a few wizards into the twentieth century.

“This building is equipped with a Temporal Device designed to slow the passage of time.  For several hours each day, the Device will be turned on.  During that time, you will be shown films of non-magical society and the advances they have made since 1900.  One day will pass for every hour inside the Temporal Field, so for that reason the windows have been covered.  During the times that the Device is turned off, we will take several field trips around the non-magical community here.  You will see firsthand how the non-magical people live, and you will take part in many activities as if you are not witches and wizards.  No wands will be permitted outside of this building and wandless magic will be prohibited.  In order for you to ‘reach out’ and welcome magical children into our world, you will first have to fully understand theirs.”

Arthur sat stunned for several long minutes as the information sank in.  He rose with the group as they were given instructions on how to operate a ‘microwave oven’ and a ‘coffee maker’, but he was dizzy with excitement.

This week was going to be wonderful!


	14. Chapter Nine: From the Platform...To the Train...to the Sorting

** Chapter Nine: From the Platform… to the Train… to the Sorting **

****

_On Saturday, August 31 st, two meetings took place in preparation for the new term at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

_The first meeting took place in the Signalfire Café on Diagon Alley, when Sirius Black hosted a brunch to introduce his long-missed family to his godson and new friends.  Emma Granger attended with Hermione, as Daniel had a scheduled golf game that morning (and was taking a glamoured Dodger along with him).  Neville Longbottom came with Harry and Lord ‘Bertie’ Porpington because Lady Augusta was meeting with the staff of St. Mungo’s Magical Hospital.  Sirius wanted the children to meet his cousin Nymphadora Tonks, who would be a Seventh Year Prefect that term, so that they would know a student who could answer questions about the school.  Andromeda Tonks was happy to have another reason to meet with Sirius, so she happily brought her daughter to the restaurant for brunch.  Narcissa Malfoy also accepted the invitation, but her son declined, citing a need to confer with his regular friends before boarding the Hogwarts Express.  Narcissa was more inclined to believe the Draco wanted nothing to do with meeting his cousin, Dora, and felt he might also miss out on making friends of his own age that were outside of his own small social circle—all children of Pureblood families that held the same somewhat Dark views that Lucius was fighting his way out of._

_Dora spent the entirety of the brunch entertaining everyone with her Metamorphmagus abilities, changing hair colors and nose shapes at a second’s notice, and happily answered questions about classes and teachers as she knew them.  Dora was also very informative about detailing locations of interest around the school grounds, like the old oak tree by the Black Lake, which was a nice place to spend a sunny afternoon, and the rose garden outside the Transfiguration classroom, which was charmed to bloom all year round, even in the snowy winter._

_Narcissa and Andromeda were intrigued to meet Emma Granger, and Narcissa was pleasantly surprised to discover that the muggle woman had impeccable manners and a delightful sense of humor, especially in regards to her daughter.  All three women commiserated about sending their children away for school, and Andromeda was happy to tell them that the distance was not too hard to bear if they wrote letters back and forth.  This led to a discussion about post owls and whether or not Hermione might actually need one (even though Harry offered to share Hedwig whenever Hermione needed to send a letter), which led to a discussion about shopping…._

_Which led to an emergency shopping trip into the Alley, where school trunks—magically retrieved by Sirius and Bertie—were exchanged for roller-trunks like the one Harry originally bought, and cross-body bags like Harry’s were purchased by Neville, Hermione, and Dora (who thought it was a nifty and handy item to have for life beyond Hogwarts), and ordinary school robes were returned, only to be replaced with high quality open-front school robes that were adorned with the Black, Porpington, and Longbottom crests.  Dora, who was finally getting her head around being a Daughter of the House of Black, twirled around gracelessly, showing off her new robes to her aunt and mother.  The younger students were also outfitted with special light-weight dragon hide robes and gloves for their potions class, along with goblin-enchanted goggles designed for brewing.  Sirius offered the same to Dora, who declined after assuring him that she was never a great potions student and would likely not take advanced classes during her Auror training._

_In the end, however, Hermione declined a post owl, even though she admired all of the owls in the shop.  She knew that Dodger would bring packages to her from home, and she could use Hedwig or a school owl for regular letters, so there was no need.  She did, however, want a magical companion animal at some point, so Emma promised to help her shop for one the following summer, when she would have more time to bond with one.  Neville also declined a personal post owl, as he could use the Longbottom owl, Aegis, when Lady Augusta was not using him.  Neville had a magical toad named Trevor that he kept in his greenhouse, and was thinking about bringing it to school to keep watch on his personal herb garden that he had permission to start in the Hogwarts greenhouses, so that was the only animal that Neville wanted to be responsible for at the moment._

_Harry mentioned something about possibly wanting a snake, but Sirius said he’d have to wait to find one Hedwig could live with without getting upset, but the Black ladies didn’t really understand that part of the conversation.  Before they all parted for the day, Dora promised to look out for the three ‘firsties’ on the train, in case they had any trouble, and they promised to show her their vacation photo albums from their adventures over the past two weeks._

_Narcissa hugged both her sister and niece before Flooing back to Malfoy Manor, but she had the distinct feeling that Draco had missed an extraordinary experience and might somehow suffer for it later._

_The second meeting took place in the teacher’s lounge, and even Dumbledore was present—although he appeared to be a bit frail and seemed quite disgruntled about the whole thing._

_Minerva McGonagall, the Deputy Headmistress, stood in front of the fireplace that was the main decoration in the room, and read from a thin sheaf of parchment._

_“Firstly, we must address former professor, Quirinius Quirrell, who was rather forcibly removed from the Great Hall two weeks ago.”  McGonagall frowned over her glasses at the Headmaster before continuing.  “The Goblin Nation has confirmed that the Wraith of Voldemort that was possessing Quirinius has been removed and contained, but the effort greatly weakened his Magical Core.  As his Core was already damaged due to his attempted theft from Gringott’s Bank, he was left completely bereft of magic and will be released from St. Mungo’s into the authority of ICWW Aurors.  He will be Obliviated extensively and re-trained to function in the muggle world.  I’m sure he will be missed by the Hogwarts staff, but it has been confirmed that he was possessed while on an exploratory vacation in Albania and that the possession caused him to break into Gringott’s, most likely to retrieve the so-called Philosopher’s Stone.  I feel the less said about that whole deal, the better, so I’ll now move on.”_

_McGonagall moved to where three new people were sitting in a small cluster facing the rest of the room.  “I would now like to welcome Professor Amelia Adenauer, who will be teaching History of Magic, and Professor Clark Oxenburg, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts.  If you could please tell us a bit about yourselves?”_

_The only new man, Clark Oxenburg stood up first.  He was tall and broad, towering over even Dumbledore, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.  His black hair glinted with blue highlights as the sunlight hit it and his dark eyes shone like polished onyx.  He spoke with a rich Australian accent, which drew close attention from all of the women in the room._

_“I’m Auror Clark Oxenburg, recently based in New South Wales, Australia.  I’ve served the Australian Auror Corps for six years, and was an ICWW Hit-wizard for ten years prior to that.  I do have my teaching credentials, as the ICWW thinks we should all be prepared to pass along knowledge and information, but I prefer not to be called ‘Professor’ as that is a title normally reserved for teachers at a university level in Australia.”_

_“And why,” asked Professor Sprout, “have you come to Hogwarts to teach?”_

_Oxenburg directed his full attention to the portly woman.  “My wife recently gave birth to our first child, and she asked me to take a sabbatical so that I can bond properly with the family.  I was happy to oblige, but then this opportunity came up.  We’ve rented a cottage in Hogsmeade, so I’ll only be in the castle from just after breakfast to the end of the class periods.  I’ll Floo from the cottage into my office here, and I’ll take my afternoon meal in the office so that I can be available to students who need help, but my time outside of classes will be spent with my family.  We may only be here for this term unless Shandra takes to the climate and wants to stay.  She and my son are my priorities now.”_

_He acknowledged the nods of support for his announcement and sat again, leaving the floor to the elderly Professor Adenauer.  She was of sturdy stock, square-built and neatly dressed in an open-front black robe over a lavender paisley dress, her steel-grey hair swept into a knot on the back of her head and held by two jeweled tortoise-shell sticks.  She stood just over five feet tall, and wore canvas high-top sneakers that added no extra height.  She also spoke with a crisp German accent that made one sit up and pay close attention._

_“I am Professor Adenauer,” she said sternly, “and I have been teaching History for seventy years, starting with ten years at Sorbonne University in Paris and ending with seven years at the Universita di Magia Avanzata in Rome.  I have also written several textbooks that are used in Magical school around the world—although not here.”_

_McGonagall offered a small smile.  “We thank you for coming at such short notice, Professor Adenauer.”_

_“Yes, well, I do enjoy the challenge of imparting relevant wisdom into backwards societies,” the older woman replied shortly before retaking her seat._

_All eyes drifted to the other newcomer in the room, another woman but as different from the first as night to day.  She stood casually, and leaned against the hearth of the fireplace with her hands tucked innocently into the pockets of her dungarees.  She wore a woven hooded shirt in ecru cotton with light blue piping at the hem and sleeves.  The dungarees were worn blue denim, frayed at the knees, and they mostly hid the leather hiking boots on her feet.  She had red (crimson, really) hair cut into a short bob that curled longer over her jaws and had a low fringe over her eyes, which were a startling pale violet.  Her mouth, with a full lower lip stretched under a narrow cupid’s bow, was curved into a slight smirk, which made her appear to be very young—early twenty-ish or so—and the jewelry she wore added to the illusion: several hoop earrings in each ear, climbing from lobe to arch, in various metals and finishes, and a long, looping necklace that seemed to be made from twisted twine, feathers, and stones, that hung almost to her waist.  She was thin, but all could see the strength in her body._

_“You are, I assume, here to teach the ‘special’ students attending school this term?” Severus Snape sneered darkly._

_One black eyebrow arched high toward her hairline.  “For the most part,” came the calm, soft reply.  “I am here for several reasons, but teaching is definitely one of them.  I am Circe, although if you are all so hung up on titles, you may call me Lady Circe or Madam Circe.  I will be covering Potions and History of Magic for three exceptional students.”  Her voice was musical, almost enchanting, but there was power in it._

_“I’m afraid,” said Dumbledore from his seat near the door to the lounge, “that I disapprove of having special classes for only three first years.  It will distance them from their classmates and create dissonance.  I’m afraid I cannot allow this to happen.”  His voice was scratchy, as if it had been used heavily in recent times, and was slightly tremulous.  “You will have to allow other students to join those classes, or they will be cancelled.”_

_Circe’s eyes hardened as she glared at the old Headmaster.  “Let’s say, for some reason, that you actually have any say in the matter, Headmaster, then I would gladly add students to those classes—provided that they meet the minimum requirements.”  Dumbledore began to preen, but Circe forestalled him.  “So, tell me—do you **have** other incoming first year students that are from privileged Ancient and Noble Houses who have passed OWLs with exceptionally highly-graded Os per the ICWW standards?  No?  Then these three students will remain the only students I will teach.”_

_Circe stood away from the fireplace hearth, bringing herself to her full height of five-foot, eight-inches, and stalked across the room to stand in front of the Headmaster.  All eyes followed her on her trek, as she made a captivating sight.  “Now, Headmaster, if you would like to argue further, that will make you in violation of the Educational Charter that **all** magical schools must follow, as per the Order of Summerisle.  Do you want to violate that Charter?  It would only be one more small offence for you, of course, but the damage to Hogwarts would be extensive.  Why, Summerisle could pull all Wilde Magic from this school, and then the castle would only be just that—a castle in ruins, with a decaying village just beyond its walls.  But you don’t want that, do you?”  Dumbledore shook his head minutely.  “Tell me, Albus,” she said softly, “have the tremors begun yet, or do you still have that small control?”_

_Without waiting for an answer, Circe whirled to face McGonagall and said, “According to the original blueprints for this school, there is a main Potions Classroom and Laboratory on the main floor just opposite this lounge.  I will be using this classroom for both Potions and History.  The doorway will be transfigured into a tapestry and the room with be password locked to prevent anyone not authorized from entering—this includes staff as well as students.  The password will be ‘Marshmallows’.”_

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Sirius stood smiling behind Harry and his friends as they posed in front of the bright red engine of the Hogwarts Express.  Emma and Daniel Granger were on his left, directly behind Hermione, and Lady Augusta and Lord Bertie Porpington were to his right, behind Neville Longbottom.  All three children were grinning widely at the antics of the House Elf Dodger as he took photo after photo with the instamatic camera that Daniel Granger had given to him.

All adults and children would each have a copy commemorating this first trip to Hogwarts.

They had all travelled to King’s Cross Station together, splitting between the Grangers’ two automobiles, and the adults would be having an early lunch together after the train left, before going their separate ways.

Sirius watched as the three students loaded their trunks onto the train before claiming a compartment for themselves.  They had all changed from the impossibly small eleven-year-olds that he first met at the beginning of August.  Oh, they were still young—the potions made sure of that—but each had been transformed slightly by the Temporal Chamber.  Diet and exercise were contributors to those changes, of course, but the Magical Maturities were the major factor.

Neville Longbottom, once chubby and uncoordinated, was leaner and more confident now.  He wore a more open expression now and seemed eager to go off and make more friends.  His face as thinner and he stood taller, as well, and Sirius could see a lot of Frank in the boy.  Sirius sincerely hoped that the healing Lady Augusta had arranged would bring Frank and Alice back to their son.

Hermione had been allowed to let her hair grow past her waist, provided that she kept it neat.  For the trip, she wore it in an intricate braid that began at her right temple and crossed her head diagonally to end in a long tail over her left shoulder.  She, too, was slightly thinner and more fit, and her teeth had aligned properly with the Maturation so that they did not appear so large.  The most attractive thing about her now, thought Sirius, was the confidence that having good friends had given her.  She might still spout paragraphs from textbooks verbatim, but she softened the information with laughter and contrition now.  Harry and Neville were happy to tame her manic academic urges.

Harry’s change was the most drastic, as he entered a major growth spurt after the Magical Blocks were removed from his Core.  He wasn’t bone-thin anymore now that he was well-fed, and his vision had corrected, negating the need for the spectacles that reminded Sirius of James.  His scar had also faded into nothingness, so Harry had stopped wearing his hair low over his brow.  In fact, Harry had decided to wear his hair fashionably long and tied back at the nape of his neck with a silk ribbon, baring his forehead completely.  He was now taller than Neville, and would one day possibly be taller than Sirius.

All three children wore conservative but casually-dressy clothes with their cross-body bags at their hips.  Hermione also carried a carefully packed picnic basket filled with a light lunch for the long (six hours!) journey.  They all waved brightly before turning into the train in search of a compartment, and the adults left the rapidly-filling platform, passing through the Magical gateway into the regular train station.

Sirius walked with Emma and Lady August while Daniel and Bertie went to collect the automobiles.  They chatted about unimportant things as they navigated the busy train station, until Emma stopped in her tracks and turned her head to and fro, looking for something.

“Is there something wrong, Emma?” Sirius asked as he surveyed the crowd.

“Um, I’m not sure,” she hedged.  “I know there’s supposed to be a secrecy thing going on, but I swear I heard someone back there talking about ‘Muggles’.”

Lady Augusta frowned.  “There should be no such talk in a public place like this.  They could be overheard.”

The three stood off to the side of the station for along moment before clearly hearing—

“—packed with Muggles, of course, so we’d better hurry along,” said a woman’s voice.

 

Sirius spotted the culprit first, and directed Lady Augusta to her.  “From the red hair, I’d say that’s a Weasley brood, so they should really know better.  I’m not in a good place to be dealing with them right now, so you had better address the issue.”

Lady August shot him a questioning glance, but moved through the crowd before he could explain.

 

“Now, what’s the platform number again?” asked the woman, and a young girl replied, “Nine-and-three-quarters, Mum.”

 

Lady Augusta consulted her wristwatch before approaching the woman, who had five children with her.  Most seemed to be of school age, and they were pushing luggage carts piled with trunks.  Lady Augusta approached quickly before they garnered any more attention.

“Pardon me,” she said with authority, causing the woman to turn around, “but you might want to reconsider talking of Muggles and invisible train platforms while in the midst of a non-magical area.”

The woman, a round middle-aged red-head, pulled up short, causing her children to move forward without her.  “I beg your pardon?” she asked archly.

Lady Augusta raised one elegant eyebrow at her.  “I said, you might want to reconsider talking about Muggles while you are in this part of the station.  One wouldn’t want to attract the attention of Aurors for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.”

The woman blushed, possibly in anger, and said, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about….”

“Mum!  We’re going to miss the train!”  One of the boys that had been with the woman ran back to get her attention.  “He’s got to be here soon, if he’s really coming.”

Lady Augusta glanced between the boy and the woman before asking, “Are you waiting for someone?”

The woman bristled like an angry robin.  “If you must know, I was sent to show a new student how to get onto the platform for the Hogwarts Express!” she hissed, causing Lady Augusta to raise both eyebrows.

“I see,” she said.  “The time is now 10:55, so you have but five minutes to get your children on that train if you don’t want them to miss it.  Who are you supposed to retrieve?”

The woman glared at her son before muttering, “Harry Potter, if it’s any of your business.”

“I see,” said Lady Augusta with a smirk, “then you will be happy to know he is already onboard.  He is most likely sitting with friends as we speak, so you should hurry and get your children on that train.”

Lady Augusta turned sharply and moved back to Sirius and Emma—who had by now been joined by Daniel and Bertie (and a Glamoured Dodger)—leaving the harried woman behind.

 

          @@@

 

Harry, Neville, and Hermione chose a compartment in the middle of the train and stowed two of the three trunks in the overhead bins, leaving one on the floor to use as a makeshift table.  Hermione had spotted Dora Tonks in the aisle and waved her over, offering to share their packed lunch in a few hours if the older girl was interested.  Dora said she’d pop by later, possibly with friends, and left the trio to get settled.

They left their compartment door open, inviting others to sit and make friends, and passed some time watching families step through the portal or Floo into the platform, saying goodbye with hugs and shoulder slaps.  Several clusters of children of varying ages passed along the aisle, looking in to see who was seated within before finding their own compartments, but Harry and Hermione were busy flipping through Hogwarts: A History and reading interesting facts to Neville.  Before long, a skinny dark-skinned boy paused at the open door and asked if there was any room, followed by a trio of girls.  All were invited to sit within, and Harry and Neville helped store the others’ trunks.

“I love your hair!” declared one of the girls, a pretty brunette with bright brown eyes.  “Sorry!  I’m Lavender Brown, and these are my friends, Padma and Parvati Patil.  And I really love your hair!”

Hermione blushed and said, “Thanks!  I’m Hermione, and this is Harry and Neville.  I can show you how to do your hair like mine, if you like?”

Lavender and Parvati nodded enthusiastically, so there was much shuffling of seats until the four girls were seated near the window and Harry and Neville were seated with the dark boy near the door.

“Hi,” said Harry, offering his hand, “I’m Harry and this is Neville.  Good to meet you.”

The boy shook hands with Neville and Harry gratefully.  “Dean Thomas.  Is this all new to you, too—magic, I mean?”

“Well,” said Harry, “it’s pretty new to me and Hermione, but Neville was raised with it.”

Dean nodded thoughtfully.  “My father was a wizard, but he died before telling my mum.  She freaked out a bit when I started having little ‘accidents’, but then a professor came to the house and explained everything to her.”

Harry laughed.  “I bet she was relieved to know there was a logical explanation, then; if you can call magic logical.”

Hermione leaned forward and asked, “Which professor came to your house?  Professor Flitwick came to see my family.  He teaches Charms.”

“I got to meet Madam Hooch.  She referees the Quidditch and teaches flying.  I can’t wait to learn that!”

The conversations rolled smoothly after that, with Hermione patiently demonstrating several hair-braiding charms and Harry and Neville pondering what classes were going to be like.  Several students glanced into the compartment and studied the inhabitants before moving on, but none stopped.  The train gave a shudder and began to move, so Neville leaned forward to close the compartment door.  As soon as the door was closed, there was a knock and it opened again, revealing a red-haired boy with freckles and a smudged nose.

“Can I sit in here? Everywhere else is full.”

Neville nodded and scooted closer to Harry to give the boy room.  He stumbled into the compartment, dragging a heavy trunk, and Harry and Dean helped him store it under the seats.  “Why is this trunk in the middle of the floor?” the boy asked.

“We’re going to use it as a table for games or lunch later,” said Hermione as she demonstrated a basket-weave braid for Padma.  “We have ‘Go’, chess, and two non-magical card games to pass the time.  Who are you?”

The boy blushed furiously.  “I’m Ron,” he mumbled.  “Ron Weasley.”

“Hermione Granger,” she said, “pleasure to meet you.”

 

Harry stiffened at the name, remembering all too clearly the forged marriage contract attempting to bond him with a girl named Ginevra Molly Weasley.  How many Wizarding families had that name?

Swallowing tightly, Harry decided that this boy could not possibly have anything to do with that contract, and introduced himself.  “I’m Harry, and these two are Neville and Dean.”

Ron, hearing the name, stared at Harry, studying his face closely.  Harry smugly pulled a deck of cards from his bag, silently thanking everyone at Summerisle that his scar was gone now, because clearly this boy was trying to see it.

 

Harry and Neville showed Dean and Ron how to play Uno, and they all passed the time getting to know each other until the compartment door opened with a rude bank, revealing the blond boy that Harry had encountered in Madam Malkins’ robe shop on his birthday.

The boy was backed by two larger, duller boys, as if they were bodyguards, and he imperiously gazed around the compartment, taking stock of who was sitting within.  Apparently he did not find anything to his liking because he sneered.

“I had heard that Harry Potter was going to be on the train today,” he said in a whiny voice.  “I suppose he changed his mind.”

“You suppose that, do you?” asked Neville with humor in his voice.  “And who are you to be asking?”

The boy visibly straightened and said, “I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ron snorted inelegantly and Draco focused on him.  “Think my name is funny, do you?  Well, I’m sure I know who you are.  Red hair and hand-me-down robes; you must be a Weasley.  Father always said that family had more children than they could afford.”

Ron blushed and slouched deeply in his seat and Hermione huffed in outrage, so Malfoy turned to her.  “And who are you?  Some filthy muggleborn, no doubt.”

“And if she is?” asked Harry.  “What of it?  Magic is a gift, you know, and I bet she has more power and control of _her_ gift that you _ever_ will.”

The two lackeys in the corridor began to rub fists together in an attempt to look menacing, but Harry and Neville just laughed at them.

“I see how it is now, Malfoy,” chided Harry.  “You’re all talk, and you have to have stooges stand up for you.  That’s the coward’s way, you know, and I have no patience for it.  You should go now.”

Emerald green eyes met icy blue for a long, silent moment before Draco called off his goons and retreated.  There was silence in the compartment for a long while as the children considered what had just happened, and then Lavender asked Hermione where she learned the hair-braiding charms.

“I learned them from a House Elf named Cozy,” Hermione said matter-of-factly.

“Oh,” said Lavender.  “That’s pretty neat.  My mother swears by Sleekeasy’s Hair Potion for her curly hair.”

Hermione laughed.  “My hair is totally out of control normally.  I mean, really out of control and frizzy—and the humidity makes it worse.  But Cozy said using potions long-term can damage hair and make it really greasy or even fall out, so I’ll stick to the braids.  Cozy taught me twenty-three different braids, so I’ll never get bored with them, and my hair can look different every day if I want.”

“Oh!” Lavender gushed, “We have _got_ to be sorted into the same House!  You have to teach me all of it!”

 

The eight of them chatted about the school Houses and where they would like to be sorted.  There were good points and bad points about each House, but Ron desperately wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor House like his brothers had before him.

“It’s the best I can hope for, really,” said Ron.  “My oldest brother, Bill, was Gryffindor Head Boy, and the next oldest was Quidditch captain.  My brother Percy is a Prefect now, and my twin brothers, Fred and George, are on the Quidditch team as Beaters.  Everybody in my family has already done everything, so the least I can do is get sorted right.  It’s not like I’ll ever stand out anyway.”

 

Before anyone could respond, there was another knock on the door and Neville opened it to reveal a pleasant witch pushing a cart.  “Anything from the cart, dears?” she asked.

Ron pouted and pulled a lumpy, greasy paper bag from a pocket.  “Not for me, thanks.”

Hermione stood and pulled the picnic basket from the overhead bin while Neville and Harry poked about the cart, choosing treats with care.  “I need two bags of Bertie Botts, please,” said Harry as he pulled his money pouch from his bag, “and eight chocolate frogs to share.”

As the witch pushed the cart further down the corridor, Dora Tonks appeared with two other girls.  “Wotcher, guys, are we late?  These are my friends Morag Cassidy and Delia Abernathy.”

“You aren’t late, Dora,” said Hermione, “so come on in.  It’s nice to meet you both.”  Hermione placed the basket on the floor next to the trunk and opened it.  “We have a packed lunch with plenty to share, if you’re all interested,” she told her new friends.  “My Magical Guardian told us that there is going to be a huge welcome feast when the sorting is over, so we won’t want to fill up, but we have a light and healthy assortment in here.”

Hermione began pulling out smaller containers filled with a variety of foods, which Harry and Neville arranged on top of the trunk.  Then Hermione began passing out china plates and flatware from a seemingly endless supply within the basket.  Harry and Neville began opening the cold-packed containers to reveal what was inside.

“We have hard brown rolls, summer berries, spinach and mushroom salad, soft goat cheese, and cold sliced chicken.  Oh!  And Ever-Full Flasks of tea and water.”

Dean eyed the containers dubiously, even as he spooned fruit and salad onto his plate.  “Are you sure there’s enough for all of us to share?”

Hermione smiled as she split a roll and spread goat cheese on it.  “This is an Ever-Full Basket.  It’s keyed to a Family House Elf, so the food will never run out until I close it with magic.  Bertie got one for me and one for my mother as ‘welcome-to-the-family’ gifts.”

“How does it work?” asked Dora. “I mean, does the House Elf have to spend all the time cooking just to keep it filled?”

“No, of course not.  Dodger already made all of this food—like a LOT of food—this morning, and Elf magic charges the containers to auto-fill.  If I tried to feed everyone on the train, the food would run out quickly, but there’s enough for a few of us to share.  Once I seal it with magic, the containers are magically sent back to Dodger.  If I want to have a picnic with friends later, I’ll just place a note inside the basket to request food and drink and give an estimate of how many will be eating, and Dodger will make and send the food.”

Dora nodded, impressed, and moaned around a bite of chicken and berries.  “That’s pretty neat.  I bet they’re expensive, though.”

Hermione nodded in agreement.  “Well, my mother’s was not as expensive, because it’s smaller.  But they can’t be found in Great Britain at all.  The Ever-Full Company is based in Connecticut in the United States, and you can’t get the baskets by Owl-order.  Bertie had to go there last week to get them.”

“Maybe I’ll ask for one as a graduation gift at the end of this year.  What else do they make?”

“They make baskets in several sizes, and thermal flasks and water bottles.  They can be shrunk for travel, but only when they’re empty, so after we eat, I’ll seal the basket to send the containers away before I shrink the basket.”

“I guess you must be rich,” said Ron around a mouthful of food, “if you have House Elves and can afford this basket.  Everybody knows you have to be rich to have a House Elf.”

“Firstly,” said Hermione as her new friends looked down in embarrassment, “it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.  Secondly, it’s rude to assume how much money a family has.  Thirdly, you’re wrong about wealthy families being the ones to afford House Elves.  You’re wrong about that.  And if _everybody_ thinks that then _everybody_ is also wrong.  House Elves are magical beings that swore a Sacred Vow to serve Wizardkind after Magic was introduced to the world, and only Magically Strong families or institutions can support Elves, because it’s magic and not money that is important.”

“Hermione,” choked Neville as his friend ranted at Ron, “you’re being a swotty know-it-all again.”

Hermione blushed and bumped her shoulder against his.  “Sorry ‘bout that,” she murmured, causing Harry and Neville to laugh.

The laughter broke most of the tension, although Ron still looked put-out.

“You’ll have to excuse Hermione,” said Harry after he sipped some water.  “She gets really uptight about House Elves because of Dodger.  But she is right about the magic bit.  There are a lot of wealthy families out there who are too Magically weak to support House Elves, and there are less-wealthy families who can support at least one.  Institutions like magical schools and hospitals supports lots of House Elves, who use their own magic to do basic chores or take care of students or patients.  Mostly they keep out of sight, but Dodger is very social.”

Lavender leaned forward to ask, “Who’s Dodger?”

Hermione sighed and replied, “Dodger is a house elf that lives with my mum and dad.  He’s a bit of an odd one, in that he really wanted to live in the non-magical world.  But if he did that, then the lack of supporting magic would have driven him insane or killed him, so nobody wanted that to happen.  So my Magical Guardian offered to Magically Adopt my mother, making her a Daughter of a Most Honorable Ancient and Noble House, so _that_ Family Magic is what supports Dodger.  I’m the only Magical person in my whole family, and I might be strong enough someday to support my own House Elf, but right now the Porpington Magic keeps Dodger alive and healthy.”

 

That conversation led back to Hogwarts and the school’s House Elves, which led back to Houses and the Sorting Ceremony.  Dora and her friends thanked them for lunch and left, and Hermione packed and sealed the basket before shrinking it to place inside of her trunk.  Eventually the sky grew darker and lanterns magically lit in the compartments and corridors.  Harry and Neville fell into a game of ‘Go’, showing Dean and Ron how to play the game, though Ron declared that chess was the best strategy game ever.

Soon enough the train slowed and the eight first-years gathered round the window to see the Hogsmeade Station come into view.  An announcement drifted along the train for students to leave luggage and pets on board, as they would be removed separately, and the students quickly donned their black school robes and opened the compartment door to file off of the train.

 

Hermione followed Harry and Neville off of the train just in time to hear Lavender tell Parvati that the upper years got to ride in magical horseless carriages.  She glanced around to see them and noticed that Harry had stiffened slightly.

“They’re not magical or horseless, are they Harry?”

Harry shook his head.  “No, they’re not, but we should let the girls think they are.  No sense bringing up something that nobody else can see.”

 

“Firs’ years!  All firs’ years come to me!”  The deep, booming voice caught their attention, and Harry led his friends to the edge of a wide lake.  Sure enough, Hagrid was gathering the new students together for a trip in tiny boats.

“Heya Harry!  How’ve yer been?”

“I’ve been well, Hagrid, thank you!”

“All righ’ there!  Firs’ years, into the boats please.  No more than four to a boat!”

 

Hermione waved to Harry and Neville as she joined Lavender, Padma, and Parvati in one boat, while Harry and Neville joined Dean and Ron in another.  Hagrid had climbed into a boat by himself, as he really was too big to share, and the tiny fleet launched across the lake.  They drifted under low-hanging trees and vines before rounding a cliff, and Harry was given his first view of Hogwarts as the castle appeared suddenly in front of him.  Harry gasped in delight, as did everyone else in his boat, before they drifted into a dark cave and docked on a rocky shore.

Hagrid led the first years up a smooth stone path to an aged wooden door, where he knocked loudly until the door was opened by a stern-looking witch in long, dark robes.

“I got yer firs’ years here, Perfessor,” Hagrid said, and the witch nodded and opened the door wider.  All of the students climbed the stone stairs and followed the witch into the castle and down a brightly lit hall, past huge double-doors that seemed to hide a crowd if the noise was anything to go by, and into an antechamber that was lined with bookshelves and portraits.

Once they were all inside, the witch, whose name was Professor McGonagall, welcomed them all to Hogwarts and told them a bit about the sorting and the four different Houses.  Harry had been willing to go wherever the Sorting sent him, but he was dismayed to find that Professor Severus Snape was Head of House for Slytherin House—which meant one less choice for Harry, as he was determined to give Snape a very wide berth while he attended school here.  He didn’t feel too badly, though, as he never considered himself too ambitious anyway.

There was a gasp of surprise from behind him, and Harry turned to find that a number of ghosts had drifted through the walls—arguing about displacing a poltergeist, apparently.  Sirius had told then all about Peeves, the poltergeist, and Harry was determined not to be pranked or abused by the specter.  He had studied an exorcism spell, and he was not afraid to use it.

Before the ghosts had time to do more than welcome the new students to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall had returned and proceeded to lead them all, in a line, into the Great Hall for their sorting.  Harry was amused to listen to the magical hat sing its song of introduction as he waited for his own sorting, and watched those ahead of him being welcomed into their new (temporary) homes.  Abbott, Hannah went into Hufflepuff, followed by Bones, Susan.  Boot, Terry went into Ravenclaw, as did Brocklehurst, Mandy—but Brown, Lavender went into Gryffindor.

On it went, Slytherin to Hufflepuff to Gryffindor, until Professor McGonagall called Granger, Hermione, and his friend left his side.  Hermione placed the old, worn hat onto her head and all was silent for a long time before the hat called “Gryffindor!” and Hermione scampered off to sit at a long table on the far side of the Hall.  Several long minutes later had Longbottom, Neville placed in Gryffindor with Hermione.  Malfoy, Draco was placed in Slytherin so fast he barely had time to blink and then it was ‘Moon’…’Nott’…’Parkinson’…both Patils—one to Ravenclaw, the other to Gryffindor—and ‘Perks’.

The McGonagall called out “Potter, Harry!” and everyone stopped talking and turned to face him.  Harry calmly walked to the stool and placed the hat on his head, ignoring the whispering around him.

“ _Well, well, Mr. Potter_ ,” he heard in his head, “ _you are the third student I’ve sorted tonight that has an advanced Magical Core.  Now, where shall we put you?”_

“Hello, hat,” he thought.  “Perhaps it would be best if you sort me with the other two.  We’ll all three be working together on independent studies during the term, and we’ve all trained together before.”

_“Yes,”_ said the Hat, _“I can see that.  You are all uniquely suited to one another, yet you also seek to build outside relationships.  That is very forward-thinking of you, not to have a pre-built social-circle.  Very well, then, you’ll have to go to—_

GRYFFINDOR!!”

 

Harry removed the hat and placed it on the stool before walking calmly to the Gryffindor table, where everyone was cheering for him.  Harry took a seat next to Neville and across from Seamus Finnegan, and watched while the rest of the students were sorted.  Dean Thomas came to Gryffindor, but Lisa Turpin went to Ravenclaw…and then there were two left: Ron Weasley and a dark haired boy Harry did not recognize.  Ron looked a bit green as he put on the hat, but was quickly place in Gryffindor and heaved a sigh of relief.

Still, he looked rather put out when he took a seat across the table from Harry and Neville.  “You could have said who you really were,” he grumbled.

Harry’s eyes widened comically.  “Um, I told you I was Harry.  How many Harrys do you figure were coming to Hogwarts?”

Ron scowled at his empty plate.  “You still could have said.”

Harry frowned.  “Look, I don’t know what you think I owe you, but believe me, I don’t owe you anything.  Look around, Ron; do you see anyone else that was sitting with us on the train complaining because I never gave my last name?  You don’t, because they’re not.  Now, there are announcements being made, and I’m sure some are very important, so I’d like to listen.  Then I would like to eat my food, and learn about my new House.  I don’t have time to deal with a pouting housemate.”

Dean and Seamus snickered softly while some bookend boys sitting near them gave contemplative looks at Harry and Ron.

 

The Headmaster, Dumbledore, was standing at the head table, surrounded by faculty and staff, giving beginning of term announcements.  He did not look well.  According to Hogwarts: A History, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was close to 150 years old, but as Wizardkind tended to age more slowly than other humans, he should only have appeared around 60.

Instead, while he introduced new professors and explained about forbidden forests and banned magical items, he was leaning heavily on the table in front of him.  He visibly needed the support while standing, and Harry wondered if that was because his Magical Core was taking a hit from all that Dumbledore had done after the Potters were killed.  When the food magically appeared, Dumbledore took his seat but did not eat.  Harry turned to his plate with a small smile and began to eat.  The food was, as promised, very rich and very good.

Harry chatted with Dean and Seamus until conversation was halted when a ghost floated through the table and settled near Ron.  He stared mournfully at the laden table before making small-talk with the students of Gryffindor House.  Hermione immediately recognized the ghost from the description that Bertie had given her, but when she tried to speak with him, the older students began to joke about him and his less-than-complete decapitation, calling him ‘Nearly-Headless Nick’.  Hermione frowned into her plate as the meal closed down, and she stood and made her way over to him to introduce herself.

“Sir Nicolas?  My name is Hermione Granger, sir, and I would like to tell you how pleased I am to make your acquaintance.  My Magical Guardian is Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington, and he told me to look out for you.”

“Ah, Miss Granger,” said Nick, “it is indeed an honor to meet a young person under the purview of my House.  I do hope you find great happiness in Gryffindor Tower.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione earnestly, “I hope so as well.”

 

The first years followed the prefects up several staircases and down several hallways before they found themselves in front of a portrait of a large, pretty woman in an old-fashioned pink dress.  The prefect gave the password and the portrait swung into the hall, revealing the brightly lit Common Room to Gryffindor Tower.  Once inside, they were told about the rules of the house and instructed as to how to get to their dorms.  Hermione waved to Harry and Neville as she followed Lavender and Parvati up the stairs to the right, leaving the boys to climb up the stairs to the left.  They knew they would see her early the next morning, well before breakfast, so Harry and Neville found their way to their beds and climbed in for a good night’s rest.


	15. Chapter Ten: Here, There,and Everywhere

** Chapter Ten: Here, There, and Everywhere **

 

The next morning, as the boys got ready for breakfast, Harry took a few minutes to explain a few things to his roomies.

“Look,” he said as he finished tying the neck-tie that was part of his new Gryffindor uniform, “you might as well know now that there are two classes that Neville, Hermione, and I will not be taking with the rest of you.  I’d like to avoid any misconceptions about that, but people are going to learn about it, and they’ll likely call us elitists or something.”

Dean Thomas looked at him quizzically and asked, “Which two classes, and why aren’t you taking them?”

Harry perched on the edge of his bed and sighed.  “Well, it’s not that we’re not taking the classes; it’s just that we’ll have private classes apart from the rest of you.  It’s for Potions and History of Magic, although to be honest, if we’d known that  there  was going to be a new professor teaching History, then we’d be in class with you all.”

“Okay,” said Seamus Finnegan, “not to sound like I think you’re being elitist, but why do you get special classes?”  There was a small smirk on his face, so Harry and Neville knew better than to think he really was offended—but Ron Weasley was beginning to look a bit envious, and it was for no really good reason.

“Well,” said Harry, “we had occasion to have private tuition over the summer, you see, and it was in a very special circumstance— _very_ special.  And so, because of that, we’ve already taken the ICWW OWL examinations in those two subjects.  Basically, we’re about three or four years ahead of you in History and Potions.  So we really can’t be in class with you all, because we’ll be studying advanced lessons—but those lessons will take place in the same slot as your classes, so we’ll meet up with you for the rest of the classes with no interruption.”

“That’s pretty wicked,” said Seamus.  “Can you tell us how you got to do that, or is it a secret?”

“I think we can tell you, but I’ll write to my Magical Guardian to make certain.  Anyway,” Harry said as he began to make his way to the dorm door so they could head to breakfast, “Hermione is probably telling the girls the exact same thing right about now, so we should get going.  It’s won’t do to be late on the very first day.”

 

Hermione was, indeed, telling the girls about the class exclusion, and they took the news slightly better than the boys.

“I don’t mind so much,” said Lavender Brown as she draped her school robes over her shoulders, “just as long as you help me study if I have problems in those subjects—and you keep showing me those really cool braids.”

 

 

Breakfast was a very loud meal, as everyone at every table was discussing the new school term and the new professors.  Students that had dealt with Professor Binns for at least a year already were greedily anticipating a Professor that actually had a pulse for once, and all of the female students were practically drooling over the new DADA professor.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” whispered Lavender as she gazed at the High Table.

Hermione nodded absently.  “He is, but he’s also an Auror, so that class is going to be absolutely fascinating.  We’ll learn a lot there, I hope.”

Lavender frowned at her friend.  “Is that all you care about, Hermione?”

Harry and Neville chuckled softly as Hermione tried to school her exasperated expression.  “Lavender,” she said with extreme patience, “we’re in a _school_.  Of course I care about learning!”

Lavender huffed as her plate disappeared from the table in front of her.  “Right, I forgot: you’re a stuffy know-it-all.”

“Um, no, Lavender,” Neville corrected through soft laughter, “it’s ‘ _swotty_ know-it-all’, not ‘stuffy’.”

Hermione lost all composure and began to giggle, causing the other students around her, who were afraid of offending her, to laugh as well.

Thus it was a happy group of first years that Professor McGonagall faced when she began handing out class schedules a moment later.  Unlike the other Heads of House, McGonagall didn’t allow the schedules to pass from one end of the House table to the other.  Rather, she preferred to hand each schedule personally to each student.  That way, if anyone had a question about the locations of the classrooms, she was available to answer.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as she handed him his schedule, “this note is for you and your two friends.  It is in regards to your History and Potions classes.  Do have a good day.”

Harry nodded to her and opened the folded note, holding it between himself and Neville so they both could read it.  Ron rose over Neville’s shoulder to read along, and Harry resisted the urge to tell him to mind his own business before handing the note over the table to Hermione.

**_Bring all of your Potions equipment and History books for storage in the classroom in the main hall, opposite the Teacher’s Lounge, behind the tapestry of ‘Circe Offering The Cup to Odysseus’.  Tell the tapestry the password: Marshmallows._ **

“That’s not a very good password, marshmallows,” said Ron sullenly.  “Anyone can get into that room using that.”

Harry arched an eyebrow at the red-haired boy before he stood away from the table.  “I’d like to see you try it.  It might be fun.”  Harry, Neville, and Hermione had made note that the last ‘s’ in the word ‘marshmallows’ was drawn like a snake, complete with a flickering tongue, indicating that the password should be spoken using Parsel-tongue.  Nobody else had a chance at opening that door.

Since their first class of the day—right after breakfast, unfortunately—was Double Potions, which the rest of Gryffindor had with Slytherin, everyone trudged back upstairs to their dorms to retrieve their class books and supplies.  As they parted from their classmates at the portrait-hole, Lavender turned and pointed her finger at Hermione.

“Remember,” she said seriously, “you’re helping us study for these classes you’re not sharing with us!”

Hermione blushed soft pink.  “I’ll help you study for all of your classes, if you want.”

The tapestry of Circe was not difficult to find, as it was literally twenty feet from the large main doors of the castle—and was ten feet high and six feet wide.  Harry whispered marshmallows in a snake-y hiss, and the seated woman in the tapestry stood and bowed before _reaching out of the tapestry to pull back the_ edge, revealing the door.  It was a very cool magical effect.

Once they were inside the door, the trio marveled at the room.  It was huge, with a large, circular raised dais in the center of the room and desks and chairs in front of the dais, a wall covered with chalkboards in front of the desks, and four tables with recessed fire pits on top of the dais—all set up for brewing.  In the back of the room, beneath high windows with transoms used to ventilate fumes, were open-front storage cubicles with hooks for hanging robes and shelves for books and other supplies.  Against the far wall, which was most impressive, was a glass-fronted supply chamber that housed all sorts of jars, vials, and crocks full of potions ingredients, all neatly labeled for identification and stored in logical groupings.

In front of the room, standing next to the chalkboards but facing the door, was a woman that bore an uncanny resemblance to the woman on the tapestry, only with short hair, denim trousers, and a white work shirt instead of long hair, draped chiton, and scepter.

She smirked at them as they filed into the classroom, finding their seats in front of her.

“Welcome to Potions,” she said with humor in her voice.  “Later this afternoon, this will also be History of Magic.  I am Circe—yes, that one—and I will be your instructor.”

Harry frowned slightly and raised his hand, lowering it when Circe nodded at him.  “I thought Sirius was hiring a private teacher for us; only, you’re clearly from Summerisle of the Deep.”

Circe leaned away from the chalkboard and strolled forward to stand directly in front of Harry.  “Yes, I am, and yes—he was going to hire someone.  But it became apparent to Nimue and Cadmus that someone needed to be inside this school to keep watch on the Headmaster.  He would not have allowed us entrance if we just asked, so it was imperative that I pose as a hired teacher.  To make it more convincing, I accepted one Galleon from Sirius Black as a fee to teach you lot.”

Circe waved her arm at the chalkboard behind her, and neat printing appeared—a list of books that was not on their official shopping list.  “Now, these books are supplied here, in the library in the Restricted Section, but there is a problem with you using them: Headmaster Dumbledore, because he is reluctant to have me here, has declared me to not be a Hogwarts Professor—which, okay, I’m not.  But you need permission from a Hogwarts Professor to go into the Restricted Section, and I can’t give you that.  I am not permitted to over-rule the Hogwarts staff in any way, because we are trying to comply with the Educational Decree as best we can, and it simply would not do to become heavy-handed around here.  So, with that being said, I am giving you permission to write to your parents-slash-guardians-slash-Magical Guardians and ask them to purchase private copies of these very necessary books—do please tell them to purchase them from a bookseller in France, Italy, or Greece—so that you have them handy for our lessons without stooping to asking another professor to write permission for you.  I would have given this list to you prior to the school term, but I wasn’t chosen for this duty until just recently and there wasn’t time.

“At the rear of the classroom, there are storage cubbies, much like lockers in a non-magical school, and they are for your supplies, books, and brewing robes.  Feel free to choose one for yourselves and fill it up.  In the potions store, there are three empty shelves that you may use for your own personal potions kits—one shelf each, thank you, although you will be using many of the ingredients that I will supply for this class.  At several times during this term, we will be taking field trips to either purchase specialty ingredients or to gather them in the wild—at approved locations, of course, so I will need signed permission slips from your guardians to leave the school grounds for that purpose.  This will not be the same as permission to go to Hogsmeade on specified weekends; that is a privilege you will have in your third year, I believe.  As I very much doubt that Professor Snape will be allowing the same for his students, I would prefer if you didn’t bandy this about in your common room.”

Hermione raised her hand, and Circe nodded to her.

“Professor…” Circe shook her head ‘no’, so she tried again “Madam Circe?” (nod, yes) “Some of our classmates have requested that we help them study, since we’re advanced ahead of what they’ll be learning.  Is that allowed?”

Circe rolled her eyes.  “Of course that’s allowed, Miss Granger.  There is no point in gaining knowledge if you do not share it and pass it along.  If, however, they have trouble with brewing, they should ask Professor Snape for assistance rather than you.  He is, after all, the main Potions Master for this institution.  If he proves difficult, they may approach me directly, and I shall have a word with him.”  Circe gestured toward the rear left of the classroom and a staircase they had not before noticed became visible.  “My office and personal quarters are there, so I can be found here most of the time.  I will, of course, take my meals in the Great Hall, mostly to irk Headmaster Dumbledore.

“Now, as this is a class—let’s get ready to learn!”

 

Harry, Neville, and Hermione rejoined their fellow Gryffindors at the Charms classroom, where they had a joined class with—Slytherin.  Actually, most of their classes were with Slytherin, with the exceptions of Herbology (with Hufflepuff) and Transfiguration (with Ravenclaw), so Harry was particularly happy that the Slytherin Head of House did not accompany the students from class to class.  Hermione sat next to Lavender and asked “How was Potions?”

Lavender rolled her eyes dramatically.  “It was _horrid_!  Professor Snape barely explained anything and he let the Slytherins get away with _everything_.  I wish I was in class with you!”

Hermione smiled slightly.  “Well, I can still help you study, so you won’t horribly fail the class.”

 

The first week of classes passed quickly, with Harry, Neville, and Hermione setting the pace for the rest of the Gryffindor First Years.  Ron struggled a bit with basic spells and wand work, but Neville tried to be patient and tutor him.  Harry tried to keep his distance because he was mistrustful of the Weasley family.  Ron seemed jealous of him for no good reason, Percy—the oldest in school—was a massive workaholic and stickler for rules of all kinds (he was a Prefect and tried to hold his position over all the other younger students), and the twins, Fred and George, were incessant pranksters who seemed to love causing trouble—but never pushed it so far as to be badly punished by the staff (although Mr. Filch, the caretaker, really hated them).  Percy was oblivious to much that went on around him if it wasn’t class related, but Harry caught Fred and George eyeing him with barely disguised interest many times and it made him uncomfortable.

Ron was personally aghast at their habit of doing homework every evening right after dinner (“It’s not even _due_ yet!”), but Dean and Lavender quickly came to appreciate the habit after Hermione explained their reasoning.

“If we do the work right away, instead of waiting until the very last minute, then we’ll have time on the weekend to relax and enjoy ourselves.”

So Ron reluctantly joined them in the library after dinner for class review and homework, muttering under his breath the entire time.  By the middle of the week, Harry had had enough of Ron’s attitude.

“Look, Ron,” he said angrily as he put his books away into his bag, “if you just want to coast through school without learning or accomplishing anything, that’s fine with me.  But don’t put anyone down for wanting to work hard.  I have plans for after graduation, and they require me to learn as much as possible and to do my very best.”

Ron sat back in his chair and glared at Harry, crossing his arms defensively.  “I have plans, too, you know!”

Harry raised one eyebrow in disbelief.  “Really?  Do tell.”

“I’m going to play professional Quidditch, if you must know.”

“Uh-huh!” Harry scoffed.  “And I suppose playing some sport requires no school at all, then?  Then why are you here, instead of off training somewhere?  You’re going to need a basic education no matter what you do in life, whether it’s magical or otherwise.  Look, I don’t care what you do with your time here, but I’d rather you not try to distract me from my education.  If you don’t want to study with us, then don’t come.”

Ron’s face grew red with ire.  “So, what?  You want to see me fail, is that it?”

Harry grabbed his bag and headed for the door.  “I don’t want to see you fail, Ron.  I just don’t particularly care to waste my time helping someone who clearly does not want my help.”

Harry left Ron sitting in the library and joined the rest of his housemates in the corridor.  He shrugged as they faced him, quirking his lips in apology.  “Sorry about that, guys.  I just hate when people complain about things they absolutely have control over.  He doesn’t want to do homework or study, but he’d rather distract us while we do it, and that doesn’t sit well with me.”

Dean clapped him on the shoulder.  “No worries, mate.  He was getting on my nerves, too.”

 

Ron did not join them the rest of the week.

 

At breakfast on Friday morning, Hedwig soared through the high window and brought a letter to Harry.  This wasn’t exactly an odd occurrence, as Sirius and Emma Granger had each written to Harry and Hermione since the start of school, and Hedwig was happy to deliver the letters.  _This_ letter, however, was from the Hogwarts School Grounds: Hagrid was inviting Harry to tea after classes that day so he could tell the man all about his first week.  Harry smiled as he pocketed the letter and he looked up to see expectant faces smiling back at him.

“What?  Do I have egg on my tie?”

Hermione giggled, but Neville answered.  “Can we go, too?  I’d love to see more of the grounds!”  Dean and Seamus were nodding in tandem on the other side of the table.

Harry frowned in thought.  “I don’t want to show up at Hagrid’s home with a bunch of kids he doesn’t know without asking permission first.  How about I go to tea and ask if we can meet with him for a tour tomorrow?  Classes will be done for the week and all of our homework should be finished.”

On the other side of Hermione, Lavender clapped her hands.  “That means we have time to ask Padma if she wants to go, too!”

Harry rolled his eyes in good humor and gathered his books for class.

Ron, sitting near his twin brothers, was sullenly silent.

 

After Harry’s last class, which was Transfiguration on Fridays, Harry handed his book bag to Neville and bounded out the front door toward Hagrid’s hut.  The weather was nice—not too cool, yet—and Harry marveled at the huge grounds surrounding the castle.  All he had seen so far had been the greenhouses and the view from Gryffindor Tower, and there seemed so much more to explore.  He vowed to ask Professor McGonagall about permission to run on the grounds for exercise.  The three of them (Harry, Hermione, and Neville) had gotten used to physical exercise while in the Temporal Chamber, but now they were limited to yoga and Tai Chi in the common room before breakfast.

Harry smiled at the first sight of the hut near the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  It was short and squat and round, the exact opposite of the man who lived there, and it had a large garden plot in the rear yard.  As Harry knocked, he was taken aback by the booming barking of what sounded like a viscous dog inside the hut, but Hagrid’s voice calming the animal let Harry relax.

“Come in, come in!” said Hagrid as he opened the door wider, and a huge boarhound bounded up to Harry and began to sniff his legs and arms in a friendly manner.  “Don’t mind Fang, ‘e won’t hurt ya.  I thought you might bring some friends along wit ya.”

Harry shrugged.  “Every first year Gryffindor wanted to come and meet you and see the grounds, but I thought it would be rude to just show up with them.  But I had an idea about that.”

 

Harry and Hagrid sat at the low table sipping tea (Harry avoided the offered rock cakes) and talking about classes and Harry’s home (the new one, not the one with the Dursleys) and his friends.  Hagrid seemed happy to meet the first years personally and agreed readily to give a tour on Saturday for anyone who wanted to attend.  It was a great visit and Harry returned to the castle with a bounce in his step.

He met Professor McGonagall at the main door.  “Out for a walk, Mr. Potter?”

Harry grinned at her.  “Mr. Hagrid invited me to tea to talk about school.  Actually, I did have a request for you, if you have time before dinner?”

McGonagall nodded her head.  “Of course, Mr. Potter.  What is it?”

“Well, Neville, Hermione, and I got into the habit of exercising while we were studying over the summer, and we can do some stuff in the common room, but I was wondering if there were any open spaces or trails we could use for running?”

McGonagall frowned slightly.  “There is a wide path around the lake, but there are no other marked trails.  That does not mean that you cannot make your own trails, if you choose to do so.  Once winter truly sets in, however, that would be a problem.  We sometimes experience massive snowfalls, and the drifts can make getting even to the greenhouses quite difficult.”

Harry considered her words carefully.  “If I asked a house elf—not one of the school’s elves, of course—to clear a running trail in the winter, would that be all right?  We’d use light-orbs and only run in the mornings, so you wouldn’t have to worry about us being out late in the evenings.”

McGonagall pursed her lips before answering.  “Would those trails be available to all students?”

“Of course!  I mean, if other students want to run for exercise….”

McGonagall snorted softly.  “Yes, well, most wizards seem to enjoy a sedentary lifestyle.  I shall allow a set of trails to be plotted, but they will have to be well marked.  And please do not brag about having a personal elf performing maintenance on those trails.”

“Of course not, Professor.  And thanks!”  Harry scurried off to meet his friends for a bit of homework before dinner.

 

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Sirius Black grimaced before placing his hand on the corroded and rusty doorknob of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.  He had not placed one foot inside of the place since he ran from home at age fourteen, and he was rather reluctant to enter it now. 

But needs must, and he knew that he had to clear out the Black Family seat before the winter holidays.

Sirius sighed before opening the door.

His grandfather, Arcturus, had long-ago left Britain for a secluded manor-house in France, leaving his parents, Orion and Walburga, to run the place.  The magic was strong in his family—it always had been—but the Darkness was also strong, and Sirius knew his mother was descending into madness further and further with every day that she venerated the Dark Lord.  She allowed other followers of Voldemort to meet here regularly, and he knew the house was filled with Dark objects and artifacts—and it would need to be cleaned out before he would allow his godson to enter the building.

Opening the door, Sirius was immediately met with manic screaming in the main hall.

“VERMIN! VILE FILTH! How dare you darken this doorway again, you good-for-nothing waste of breath!”

Sirius sighed.  Of _course_ his mother would have a magical portrait in this house!  Sirius turned away from the door and entered the main hall, and there she was, in all her life-sized glory: a full-body portrait of Walburga Black that filled the quarter-wall separating the main hall from the formal entrance.

“Hello, Mother,” Sirius said dryly.  “It’s so nice to see you again.  Too bad I’ll have to have you removed.”

Walburga sneered at him.  “There is a permanent sticking charm on this portrait, so I’ll not be going anywhere.  This is _my_ home!  You are not welcome here!”

“I don’t think so, you old bat!”  Sirius eyed the wall housing the portrait.  It wasn’t load-bearing, so removing the whole wall would be no problem.  He was certain that he could purchase a vault deep in the high-security section of Gringott’s that would be large enough to house the thing.  Axesmith seemed to like him enough to help him.

Sirius turned to face the main staircase and cringed: along the wall, near the ceiling, was a long line of disembodied heads—house elf heads—mounted and preserved, with expressions of shock and dismay still clear on their faces.  Sirius sighed in dismay.  Knowing that your mother had gone completely ‘round the bend was one thing; it was another to see the proof.  Those faithful servants probably stood by Walburga as she descended into insanity, losing their own minds in the process, and as repayment for their loyalty, Walburga had them decapitated and stuffed, holding them in the house forever.  He would have to ask Bertie to see that they were returned to Summerisle for proper burial.

A loud pop behind him drew his attention away from the ghastly heads, and Sirius turned to see Kreacher, his late brother’s personal elf, glaring balefully at him from the entrance to the dining room.

“The rotten apple has come home,” croaked Kreacher in a gravelly voice.

Sirius sighed deeply.  “Oh, Kreacher!  Reg would be so unhappy at what you’ve become.”  The elf was dressed in a dirty pillowcase that was torn and tattered beyond repair.  His large, bat-like ears drooped almost to the ground and his shoulders hunched severely, making him appear much shorter than he really was.  His once vivid eyes were watery and pale, and his nose was dripping snot.

“You shall not speak of Young Master!” Kreacher croaked again, lifting a lip in a snarl.  “Young Master has died for Kreacher!  And you defile his name!”

Sirius took pause; Regulus died for Kreacher?  What was that all about?

“How did Reg die for you, Kreacher?  I thought he died in service to Voldemort.”

Kreacher sniffed derisively.  “Bad Snake Man tried to kill Kreacher for a locket, but Young Master saved Kreacher.”

Sirius frowned.  Could this possibly be the locket Bellatrix told Lucius about?

“Kreacher,” said Sirius carefully, “can you tell me about that?  I would very much like to understand how my brother really died.”

And so Kreacher told Sirius everything: how Walburga handed over Kreacher when Voldemort demanded use of an elf, how Voldemort poisoned Kreacher in order to hide a cursed locket in an Inferi-infested cave, how Regulus cared for Kreacher and nursed him back to health and swore to avenge him.  Sirius began to understand how Regulus lived in his last few days, totally disenchanted with Voldemort and his manifesto.  Sirius understood that Reg’s affection for the elf was deep, so he was not completely surprised that he would move against the Dark Lord once Kreacher was in danger.

“Young Master only asked one thing of Kreacher, and Kreacher has failed all these long years.”  The elf was despondent.

“What did he ask of you, Kreacher?  What can I help you with?”

Kreacher eyed Sirius dubiously.  “If Kreacher has failed using all of his elf-magic, how can a wizard help?”

Sirius sighed.  “I have resources, Kreacher.  I want to send you to be healed, if you can be, and I want to help grant Regulus’ last wish if at all possible.  Living here can’t be good for you, so please let me help.  Tell me what he wanted you to do.”

“Kreacher was to destroy the locket after Young Master drank the poison.  But Kreacher used all of the elf magic and the locket remains.  So Kreacher stays to help the Black Mistress even though he is weak.”

Sirius snorted in disbelief.  “The Black Mistress is dead, Kreacher, and she was totally mad long before she died.  Look what she did to all of the other elves!  But I know somebody who can destroy that locket, and I know somewhere you can be healed so that you can have your elf magic back.  And perhaps I can find a good home for you with another proper Black Mistress?  Perhaps with Miss Narcissa?”

Kreacher perked up for the first time since seeing Sirius.  “Kreacher will retrieve the locket.”  With a ‘POP’, Kreacher disappeared and Sirius wandered into the nearby parlor to find the fireplace that was always connected to the Floo Network.  He had hopes that it was still connected even though the only real occupant of the house died several years prior.

He was in luck, and the Floo was still connected.  There was even still a pot of Floo Powder on the mantle, which Sirius used to place a Floo call to Special Agent Gabriel Manzini.  Not only was that man mostly responsible for Sirius’ release from Azkaban, he was responsible to taking the Crouch’s house elf, Winky, to be healed.  Sirius hoped he might be able to help Kreacher—or to find Kreacher a good place to lie at rest if he didn’t survive healing.  In either case, Kreacher needed to be out of this house.  It simply wasn’t healthy anymore until Sirius had it cleansed.

Manzini was surprised to hear from Sirius, but after hearing the sad, short tale, he agreed to bring a small team to Grimmauld Place to see to Kreacher.  After hearing that agreement, Sirius placed another Floo call to Gringott’s Bank and asked for Axesmith.  Once he was connected to the wily banker, Sirius explained about the wall that needed to be removed from his house, and about the locket which could possibly be a Soul Fragment.  Axesmith also agreed to come to the townhouse with a goblin team, mostly to look at the wall and portrait but also to take custody of the locket.

By the time Sirius finished his business and was waiting for the arrival of the Gringott’s and Summerisle teams, Kreacher had returned with the locket.  It was silver, with a silver chain, and there was a path of emeralds on the front in the shape of a snake.  And it…felt…wrong; evil, somehow.  Sirius did not want to touch it with his bare hands, so he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and took it from Kreacher.

He was just lifting it to the light coming from the window when the Floo activated and Gabriel Manzini came through, followed by a uniformed healer Sirius had never met, and two uniformed house elves that he had met-Flopsy and Mopsy.

Sirius smirked.  “No Cotton-tail today?”

Manzini scowled.  “Cotton-tail is preparing a room for Kreacher.”

From Sirius, Kreacher was eyeing the newcomers with distrust.  Sirius turned to him and said carefully, “Kreacher, these elves helped heal me after I got out of prison, and they’re here to help you.  They’re from Summerisle of the Deep; do you know where that is?”

Kreacher’s eyes widened in shock.  “Kreacher remembers his grandsire telling him about the origin of Magic.  Kreacher will be healed there?”

The healer approached cautiously, as if nearing a wild animal, and said, “We will do everything possible to heal you, Kreacher.  You are of a Noble Race, and we will do everything we can for you.”

Behind them, the Floo activated once again, this time dispatching a team of goblins led by Axesmith himself.  Sirius carefully brandished the necklace, holding it by the untarnished chain—well away from his body.

“Mr. Axesmith,” said Sirius gravely, “this horribly abused House Elf took this item from my late brother.  I hope, for all our sakes, that it is the locket my dear cousin told Lucius about.”

Axesmith, who had begun to harbor affection for the humans that Harry Potter brought into his midst, carefully approached the locket with his team of War Mages to examine the locket.

“Yes,” he hissed lowly.  “This feels Dark, very Dark.  It may well be another Soul Fragment, but we shall have to examine it carefully within a warded chamber to make certain.”  Axesmith turned his attention to a shell-shocked Kreacher.  “Elf, if this is what we seek, you have done a great service.”

Kreacher, however, was not paying much attention to the goblins.  He was too entranced by the Order Healer and the Healer Elves.

Over the course of the next three hours, Kreacher was sent through the Floo to Gringott’s with the healers and was on his way to Summerisle of the Deep, a team of Goblin construction workers had completely removed the wall holding the portrait of Walburga Black and carted it away to be held in a high-security vault deep under the bank (along with the portrait of Narcissa’s father at her request, because she wanted to never see it again), and another group of goblins was carefully removing Dark artifacts, texts, and heirlooms from Number 12 Grimmauld Place, clearing it to be safe for occupation.  Sirius watched the activity from the front hall, where he idly kicked a horrid troll-foot umbrella stand.  The elf heads were long-removed, taken for proper burial on Summerisle, and the atmosphere of the house lightened remarkably with each removal.  For the first time since…ever…Sirius felt that this house might be an acceptable place to live.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Albus Dumbledore was not having a good term.

The students all arrived, just as they should, and were sorted properly, but the Sorting Hat was notoriously silent after the fact.  In previous years, the Hat would spent several afternoons chatting with the Headmaster about the potential of each new student, but now the Hat said nothing to Dumbledore at all.  Not one thing.

And Fawkes, his Phoenix (actually, the Phoenix was integrated to the school, because all Magical Schools had an integrated Phoenix to keep the Headmaster honest, but Dumbledore had taken to allowing everyone to think that Fawkes was his personal familiar because of the status of such a joining) had stopped singing to him and begun Burning constantly.  As in, Burning _every other day_.  Since the Burning of the Phoenix was supposed to be an indication that it was time for the Headmaster to be replaced (Fawkes had burned very early into the administration of Phineas Black, who was known as one of the worst Headmasters Hogwarts had ever had), Dumbledore simply ignored the signs and went on with his business as usual.  But still, it wasn’t a good indication to his image for his Phoenix to be ignoring him, so Dumbledore hoped that nobody noticed before he could come up with a convincing story.

And Harry Potter, the child Albus hoped to groom into a super weapon against the Darkness, was not at _all_ how Albus imagined him to be.  For one thing, he was incredibly studious, which went against Albus’ earlier determination of the child (all of Potter’s previous teachers from elementary school complained in front of a Disillusioned Dumbledore about how academically lazy the child was).  For another thing, Harry was incredibly close to two students that were certainly not on Dumbledore’s radar—Hermione Granger, a muggle-born Dumbledore had never heard of, and Neville Longbottom, the surviving child of a former Auror attacked by Voldemort after the Potters were killed.  Dumbledore had hoped to nurture a friendship between Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, but Harry seemed to avoid Ronald whenever possible.  That would never do.

And then there was the power drain that Dumbledore had been feeling since before the term began.  Oh, he had heard the distant rumors of what happened when someone crossed the Goblin Nation (and had actually seen the consequences of what happened to the Binns family), but Dumbledore was Light—the Leader of Light, in fact—so everything he did was for the Greater Good, so the consequences would never touch _him_.  Perhaps it was a wizarding illness that was weakening him, and he would recover soon enough.

The worst thing to happen, though, was the mysterious disappearance of several priceless books and artifacts from his personal library in his office.

Oh, they were not exactly his, of course, but he had appropriated them as payment for being the Leader of Light, and they were important to him.  Most of the books came from the Potter Family Library, taken right after the Potters went into hiding (when they weren’t paying too much attention), and were full of spells and charms that Albus could use in the fight against the Dark.  Of course, they were also very valuable—almost priceless—and Albus liked the idea of wealth very much (for the Greater Good, of course).  And there was James Potter’s invisibility cloak, which was possibly an actual Hallow, that Dumbledore was actually planning on gifting to Harry (temporarily, of course) in order to garner his loyalty for the fight to come.  Dumbledore was planning to leave it on Harry’s bed as a Christmas gift, along with a mysterious note telling the boy that the cloak belonged to his father—a link that Harry would be hungering for after never knowing his parents his entire life—but now it was gone, along with all the other treasures.

There simply was not trace of them anywhere, and Albus could not understand where they could have gone much less _how_ they could have gone.

Now he would need to find another way to bring Harry Potter to his side so he could mould the boy into his perfect weapon.  It was too early to give the potions to the Weasley girl; she still had another year to wait before attending the school.

Albus dropped heavily into his desk chair and began to plot, studiously ignoring the lingering weakness in his limbs.  His Magic was strong—very strong—and Albus was certain he would overcome whatever was ailing him.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Since she only taught three students—and only for a few hours, twice a week—Circe had taken it upon herself to wander the halls and become acquainted with Hogwarts Castle.  There were a few unused dormitories, which saddened her, and many unused classrooms, which pissed her off royally.  At one time in history, and Circe was definitely going to read up on that, Hogwarts was positively _filled_ with students of all ilks.  The extra dormitories indicated a housing system different than the one used in the present time, and Circe was incredibly interested in _that_.

The portraits on the walls were only so informative, but even they didn’t know the full history of the Castle.  Either that, or they didn’t feel comfortable telling the story to Circe.  She knew that was the fault of Albus Dumbledore, who had informed _everyone_ in the school that she wasn’t an employee of the school and really had no place there (he really was unpleasant).  Because of that little declaration, Circe could take no books from the library without earning the ire of Irma Pince, the librarian, could gather no interesting information from the portraits—including passage into the current dorms—and could not access any Floos outside of her own classroom.

Of course, she _could_ talk to the Hogwarts ghosts, who apparently did not really care for Dumbledore any longer.  They weren’t exactly fonts of information, of course, but they were rather chatty.  Circe found herself enchanted and amused by her talks with Sir Nicolas from Gryffindor.  He outwardly put on airs of a haughty and arrogant nature, but was really a pussy-cat.  He told the most amusing stories about former students from all houses, and Circe appreciated how observant he was.  Helena Ravenclaw—the Grey Lady of Ravenclaw House—was an over-educated snob, and would barely pass the time when Circe encountered her in the halls.  Circe sent for books from Summerisle—books about the magical history of all Magical Schools—and she learned all about Helena’s scandalous theft of her mother’s fabled Diadem, and her equally scandalous death at the hand of her only admirer.  Circe really thought it was unfortunate that there was such a couple as them, even as ghosts, loitering around the school.  It could set a bad example to the current students to see evidence of such an abusive romantic relationship.

Still, it was Sir Nicolas that told Circe as much as any of them knew about one Tom Riddle and his time in the school as a student—and later, as an applying teacher.  Circe perked up when she heard that bit, as she was certain that nobody knew that the future Voldemort had applied to teach at the school.  Sir Nicolas didn’t know a lot, of course, as ghosts were not privy to everything that happened at their haunts, but Circe came to know about the curse he placed on the DADA position (which she planned to tell Auror Oxenburg all about, in case he wanted to hang around for more than one term) and how he practically seduced that prissy Grey Lady with words of intellectual superiority.  And everything she learned, Circe passed along back to Lady Nimue at Summerisle.

Merlin was coming back.  Lady Nim knew it.  Circe knew it.  There were indications all over the place of his imminent return, if one knew where to look.  When Circe agreed to take this job—which she loved, because she loved to pass along knowledge—she was given all pertinent information about the Oracle’s prophesy, which was incredibly linked to Harry Potter.  Circe actually liked the boy.  He had pluck and courage and a great sense of humor.  He was interested in learning as much as possible, and he wanted to become a Healer, which Circe could only admire.

So Circe wandered the castle learning everything that she could, and admiring the architecture.

Then one day, she wandered into the first floor girl’s lavatory—and found a snake carved into one of the sinks.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Arthur Weasley stood in front of the Floo in his new (NEW!) office in the Outreach Department of the British Ministry of Magic and tossed in Floo Powder, calling for William Weasley, care of Gringott’s Bank, Cairo.  It was the last address Arthur had for his son, and he was hoping it was still current.

He had so much to tell his oldest boy: a new job, a new office, the potential treachery of his wife.

The possible corruption of his youngest child (and only daughter).

Arthur had an idea how to deal with most of that, but he wanted Bill’s advice, as a Gringott’s employee, on how to deal with Molly’s plot to defraud a mere (but wealthy) war orphan.

The Floo flashed green, and Bill’s curious face appeared under the mantle.

“Dad?  What’s up?  This doesn’t look like your office; where are you?”

Arthur beamed.  “It is my office, son!  I got a recently got a new posting in a different department, which is one reason for the call.  Here,” he said, scribbling on a piece of parchment, “this is my new address.  Step through so we can talk.”

Bill raised an incredulous eyebrow but accepted the parchment when it drifted through the Floo connection, and he stepped back to disconnect the call.  Moments later the Floo reactivated, and Bill Weasley stepped through.  He was dressed in khaki robes with a red fez perched on top of his long, ginger hair.  There was a glimmering fang hanging from one ear, and Arthur kind of liked it but thought Molly would be scandalized.

Which….yeah.  “So,” said Arthur clasping his hands together nervously, “how do you like the new office?”

Bill looked around, eyes taking in the rolls of parchment and the log books piled on the desk.  The desk was cluttered, but the rest of the office was neat and orderly, with cushy chairs arranged in front of the desk and shelves decorated with various muggle items.

“It’s very interesting,” he said after a moment.  “Where are we?  I’ve never been in this part of the Ministry before.”

Arthur beamed proudly.  “We’re in part of the Department of Mysteries, Bill.  There’s a book down here, one that magically lists muggle and muggle-born children that exhibit Accidental Magic.  The Outreach Department, which is where I work now, sends out agents to meet with the children and parents to explain Magic.  Bill, I’ve wanted this job forever, and now I have it!”

And he had, too, which all of the Weasleys knew very well; Arthur wanted to know everything possible about Muggles and how their world works.

“That’s great, Dad!” said Bill enthusiastically.  “I’m very happy for you.  This must be a dream come true for you.”

Arthur nodded.  “It is, Bill, but I almost didn’t get it.  This job was handed to me at the tail-end of a very nasty inquest, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you.  There’s been a problem with you mother, and I think I need some advice as to how to handle it.”

 

The discussion was long, and Arthur had to call out for lunch for two (a muggle food item called ‘submarine sandwiches’) before it was over.  Bill remained calm throughout the whole thing, but Arthur could see his rising agitation.  When the explosion finally came, Arthur was ready for it.

“How the BLOODY HELL could she do something like that?” Bill yelled angrily.  “She could have destroyed the Family Magic!”

Arthur nodded reluctantly.  “Yes, I know.  I had to flex everything I had to make sure that I still had the power, and I was lucky.  I know I let her have a lot leeway, and I shouldn’t have, but I need to know how to really rein her in—without hurting her.”

Bill gawked at his father.  “Without hurting her?  Dad, I love Mum, really, but she drove me and Charlie away from the family.  She tried to usurp the family power-seat from you.  Dad, she tried to move against the Goblins, and that has serious consequences.”

“Like what, exactly?” Arthur asked and he leaned closer to his son.  “I mean, I’ve read the warning on the Gringott’s wall; everybody has.  I guess I just don’t know exactly what it means.”

Bill sighed and wiped his hands over his face.  “Well,” he said, after a moment, “when anyone, witch, wizard, or other Magical Being, takes a position with Gringott’s, we get a brief history of the Goblins and their vow to Magic.  The first Goblins vowed to protect all Magicals—and to protect Non-magicals from us.  Because of that vow, the penalty for stealing or cheating Gringott’s is loss of personal Magic.  If someone steals a lot, or uses the Bank to steal from others in a huge way—or uses the Bank to support Darkness—they risk total Family Magic, and members of a cheating family will become weaker and weaker with each generation until all of the Magic is gone.  That warning is a very prettily worded caution against losing your magic.”

Arthur frowned.  “As much as I love Muggles and Muggle things, I would not like to actually be one.”

“Nobody would, Dad,” laughed Bill, “not really.  Magic is pretty great, and we have a lot of advantages.  But non-magicals have a lot of advantages, too.  They have wonderful technology and arts.  But they can be dangerous if they are not understood, and that’s why I love working with the Bank.  I can see it all if I look, the good and the bad.”

“I’ve got to get the house in order, Bill,” said Arthur gravely, “and I think I’ll need some help.  Can you help me?”


	16. Chapter Eleven: September/October

**Chapter Eleven: September/October**

The second week of classes at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was just beginning, and Harry Potter was settling in quite well.

 

Hagrid’s tour of the school grounds was a huge hit for everyone.  Parvati Patil told her twin, Padma (who was a Ravenclaw student) about the tour, and Padma spread the story through the rest of Ravenclaw.  A Hufflepuff firstie over-heard in the library Friday evening and told everyone in their common room, and that spread to Hufflepuff Head, Professor Sprout, who told the other professors in at the Head Table at breakfast Saturday morning.

Harry had approached Lady Circe before breakfast, asking to use her classroom to call the Potter House Elves to him, so that he could choose one to help him mark and clear running trails during the school year.  It would only be the second time he would meet the Potter Elves, and Harry was looking forward to bonding with them during school breaks. 

Harry first called the Potter Elves to him during a break from the Temporal Chamber while on Summerisle of the Deep.  Lady Nimue had noted that while the Potter Family Magic had kept the elves alive even after James and Lily were killed, it was likely that Family Magic that had also kept Harry alive through abuse and neglect, and the House Elves may need to be evaluated.  She was right, of course.  Each of the three Potter homes had five House Elves caring for the property, and they all needed a degree of healing.  They were all very happy and pleased to meet Harry, of course, so it was a simple thing to request that they submit to the care and healing available at Summerisle.  As it turned out, three of the elves (all from Potter Fields) had indeed reached the end of their time on earth, and they thankfully agreed to stay on the island and be at rest.  Harry reassigned two other elves to live at that property, so each would have four instead of five, and vowed to spend time with all of them in the near future so that bonds could be rebuilt. 

But already Harry had a special connection with one of the elves, Grimsby from Potter Manor, and that was the elf that Harry called to him before breakfast that Saturday morning.

By the time Harry, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus—basically everybody from Gryffindor under sixth year (with exception of Ron Weasley, who could apparently out-stubborn a brick) were due to meet (right after breakfast) with Hagrid in the front hall just inside the main doors, the hallway was crowded with students of all ages and from all Houses, as well as a few Professors.  Hagrid was clearly uncomfortable at the attention, but Harry was quick to reassure him.

“We just figured that you would be the best person to guide a tour of the grounds, Mr. Hagrid. I mean, you know all about them, right?  All the best places to catch sun or to study privately?”  Harry smiled brightly.  “And who better to show us where not to go, right?  I mean, Professor Dumbledore said the Forbidden Forest was off-limits—which makes sense because it’s ‘Forbidden’—but where does that boundary begin?  I mean, the greenhouses are on the edge of the forest, so obviously parts of it are fine.”

Hagrid puffed up at the praise and show of support and stood to his full (not inconsiderable) height to lead the way out the massive front doors.  He led the students down around a path that lead toward the Quidditch Pitch, pointing out magically flowering butterfly bushes and the enchanted rose garden, and around the Black Lake (taking time to show off his familiarity with the Giant Squid).  He patiently answered questions about the creatures and beings that lived in the forest and showed everyone his favorite ‘alone places’ which were many and far-spaced.  Professors Sprout and Kettleburn added any information that Hagrid missed, which wasn’t really very much.

Hermione and several Ravenclaws took notes. 

All during the tour, Harry mentally plotted the running trails he wanted to mark for exercise.  Grimsby, who was invisible by way of Elf Magic, also took mental notes, conferring quietly with Harry about his requirements for running trails.  The Hogwarts grounds were _huge_ , with rolling hills and sacred stones and a mostly unused stable and a Whomping Willow that was to be avoided _at all costs_ , and Harry felt that he could mark off three trails of varying lengths, and he and his friends could run every day and never get bored with the scenery. (Neville surreptitiously snapped photos with a left-over disposable camera so he could share the images with his ‘new’ family over Christmas Break.)

The tour took hours, and when it was over everybody thanked Hagrid heartily and headed in for lunch.  They were all chattering happily about the tour, garnering the attention of Slytherin House, who all missed the tour because it was beneath them.  Now, however, it seemed they were not so certain.  If nothing else, the tour brought most of the other three houses closer together in curiosity if not friendship.  Some of the First Years from Slytherin House seemed reluctantly regretful at having missed the tour.  Draco Malfoy merely sneered at them all.

Harry quietly approached Professor McGonagall before the meal was served and introduced Grimsby as the House Elf that would be clearing the trails.  Professor McGonagall seemed quite taken aback at the elf, who was dressed in khaki trousers and work shirt and tiny work boots.  Harry hadn’t really noticed any of the Hogwarts House Elves, which was supposed to be the mark of a talented elf, so he was not sure what _they_ wore, but all of the Potter Elves wore uniforms of one sort or another.  Still, Professor McGonagall seemed happy to meet the elf and agreed to allow him access to the grounds to work on the running trails.  Grimsby seemed very happy at the news.

 

The second week of classes began much as the first, with Harry eager to learn as much as possible and Ron Weasley still determined to do as little as possible.  The only huge difference was that the afternoon homework group went on as usual in the library, but with Ron conspicuously absent.  He still grumbled about in the Common Room, complaining about how hard the classes were, but Harry forced himself to ignore the boy.

Hermione’s elaborate and ingenious braids made her very popular among the female First Years, and there was usually a small crowd waiting for her in the corridor outside the Great Hall before breakfast.  She actually taught some of the simpler and smaller braids to her dorm mates, and they in turn passed the charms along to their friends in other classes, but she kept the secret to the most elaborate braids to herself.  She had no problem, however, with performing the charms for the other girls who asked, and so Hermione began making friends all on her own, based purely on her sense of hair fashion.  (Emma crowed with joy when she read that in one of Hermione’s letters home.)

Hermione and Harry (and Neville to a lesser extent) also became well known as patient tutors, and some Hufflepuffs eventually joined the Gryffindors in the homework group.  The Slytherins kept to themselves, and the Ravenclaws thought themselves above such things, but the Gryffs and Huffs began getting along much better.

Occasionally older students came to the study sessions for help with Potions.  Since Harry, Hermione, and Neville were taking advanced Potions lessons, and everybody knew it because news travelled quickly in such an enclosed environment, some of the Third and Fourth Year students came to them with questions when they couldn’t make sense of a brewing technique.  The three First Years kept in mind Lady Circe’s rule of keeping the tutoring to the textbooks, so they advised the others that if they were having trouble with the actual brewing, they should ask Professor Snape for extra help.  They groaned, but they agreed that it would (mostly) keep the peace.

Harry was most interested in the class that would be offered at the end of the week: Flying Lessons.

Over a month ago, Harry had never heard of magic and would never have believed that he would even fly in an airplane.  Now he was about to learn how to fly on a broomstick, and he was nervous and anxious and just looking forward to it.

Hermione?  Not so much.

Hermione was completely afraid of heights.  Harry and Neville tried to give her encouragement, but Hermione wasn’t really having it.  She fretted about it during meals and between classes.  And in the Common Room.

The day before the Gryffindor/Slytherin flying lesson, having heard quite enough and being worried about Hermione’s mental health, the Weasley twins took matters into their own hands—and broomsticks.  They asked permission first from Professor McGonagall, because getting detention right before Quidditch season started would be pure folly, but after it was granted they took Hermione aside and told her to meet them in the front corridor after dinner.  Curious, she agreed, and Harry and Neville followed because she was their friend.

Fred and George took Hermione to the Quidditch Pitch, where they summarily took her on rides on the backs of their brooms, taking turns and each gradually flying higher and higher—one flying while the other spotted from the ground, ready with a levitation spell in case of emergency—until Hermione was not only used to the heights and air movement, but was also looking forward to her first lesson as a solo flyer.

For the first time since being thrust into the Magical World, Harry looked at a Weasley and felt admiration.

 

                   @@@

 

Flying lessons with Slytherin were…interesting.

For an entire week, Draco Malfoy had been regaling his housemates with tales of flying over the countryside where he lived, and all of the stories ended with a dramatic scene where he had to fly low to escape a “muggle heliocopter”.  Everyone in the whole school could hear these stories, as he usually told them in the Great Hall during lunch and dinner.  Harry watched in helpless amusement as Hermione almost gave herself a migraine from rolling her eyes so hard and decided to shut the blond git down before someone actually started to believe him.

“Malfoy,” Harry asked innocently once the meal was finished and Slytherin and Gryffindor First Years prepared to head for the Quidditch pitch, “what exactly does a heliocopter look like?”

It was a perfectly innocuous question, and most people (the ones who hadn’t come to know Harry Potter since term started) would have ignored it. 

Most people. 

The Gryffindors, however, watched eagerly when Harry pulled a rather worn magazine from his ever present cross-body bag and flipped several pages full of non-moving illustrations.  He found the one he wanted and offered it to Malfoy.

“Is this it?”  The drawing on the shiny page was of a sausage-shaped vehicle with large front windows and two huge propellers—on on the top in front, and one on the top in the back.  There appeared to be a large opening in the rear of the craft with a kind of hinged drop-door.  The photograph was labeled _Heliocopter_.

Malfoy accepted the magazine with a sniff and looked disdainfully at the drawing before raising one haughty eyebrow at Harry.  “And if it is?  So what, Potter?”

Harry took back the magazine and flipped a few more pages before finding another illustration.  “Well, Malfoy, that heliocopter that you claim chased you while you were out flying is actually used by non-magical military services, and is mainly for troop movement for air-drops into war zones, so it is unlikely to have been found over the countryside in Wiltshire.  Now this,” Harry continued as he offered another illustration—a sleeker, bubble-fronted, fish-shaped craft with one propeller over the bubble and a smaller propeller on the tail-end—which many students gathered to look at, “is a civilian helicopter, mainly used by non-magical news agencies for weather and traffic reports.  The military and law enforcement agencies also use these, and I do suppose this could be what you saw. 

“However,” said Harry with a serious glint in his eye, “these craft have radios in them, and are in constant contact with home bases.  If you had been spotted by someone flying one of these, the non-magical authorities might have been informed, and Wiltshire would have been flooded by policing agencies looking for what non-magicals call UFOs.  If that had ever happened, Malfoy, then the Auror Corps would have been all over you and your family for breaking the Statute of Secrecy.  Before bragging and telling tales, you might want to learn some facts to back them up.”

Harry returned his magazine to his bag and turned to walk out the front entrance of the castle, followed by the rest of the Gryff Firsties, all of which were chattering about the confrontation and asking about ‘muggle flying devices’.  Since Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan also grew up in the non-magical world, they helped answer the questions to their best ability.

Behind them, Draco Malfoy stood stunned while Slytherin upper-year students gave him nasty glares.  He began to quietly plot his revenge.

But he never got the chance.

 

All of the first-year students gathered around Madame Hooch, the flying instructor and Quidditch referee, and listened to her instructions about how to mount the broomsticks, kick-off from the ground, and hover at a low distance.  Hermione glanced nervously at her friends before squaring her shoulders and summoning the broomstick.  Like Harry’s and Dean’s, it jumped right into her hand and she held it level while Madame Hooch went around and assisted those who were having trouble.  More than a few Slytherins were having difficulties, so it was quite a while before anyone could actually mount and hover, but Hermione helped Lavender and Parvati by insisting that it was all about being confident.

“Look”, she whispered carefully, “I was _terrified_ about flying.  I hate heights and was so not looking forward to getting on a broom.  But Fred and George took me up pillion the other day, and I discovered that flying was actually fun!  Just be confident.”

The other girls took her words to heart, and soon enough their brooms were also in hand.  By the time Madame Hooch came back to the Gryffindors, all of them were holding gently vibrating broomsticks and were waiting patiently for further instruction.  The hovering went easily enough, with Harry delighting in hearing Madame Hooch tell Draco Malfoy that he’d been flying wrong for years, and then they were allowed to, well, fly. 

The Gryffindors zipped around the pitch while staying relatively low to the ground, playing a modified version of tag and laughing uproariously, while the Slytherins dared each other to go higher and higher and faster.  Malfoy, who seemed to think he had something to prove, sped around the pitch as if a dragon was chasing him, going higher and higher until he was near the goal hoops, and Crabbe and Goyle struggled to follow him.

And that’s when disaster struck, and Goyle lost control of his broom and began to fall.

Before Madame Hooch could react, Harry and Neville rallied themselves to fly under the falling boy and managed to each catch an arm long before he hit the ground.  The loose broomstick wavered and headed into the cluster of Gryffindors, knocking them sideways as they scrambled to get out of the way.  Luckily they were all still close to the ground and nobody was hurt.

Nobody except Goyle, who wrenched his shoulder when Neville caught him.

Madame Hooch congratulated both boys for their quick reflexes and ordered everybody to dismount and empty the pitch so that she could escort Goyle to the hospital wing.

 

Back in the Common Room, Harry happily wrote to Sirius and told the whole tale, dropping the missive into his mail slot in his school trunk because it was too late to bother Hedwig.  When he rejoined Hermione and Neville and Dean for a game of Uno, the Weasley twins confronted him and asked if he was planning to try out for the Quidditch team.

“I hadn’t thought about it.  Why?”

Fred looked at George (or George looked at Fred) and shrugged.  “Well, we need a Seeker, and your father was a legendary Seeker while he was in school.”

It was the exact wrong thing to say, and Harry shut down completely, bidding goodnight to his friends and retreating to his bed.

The twins gaped after him before one looked to Neville and asked, “What did we say?”

Neville gathered the pile of cards and began to lazily shuffle.  “Well, you compared Harry to his father.  Harry grew up without his parents, you know.  He knew nothing about them.  And then, a miracle happened and he found his godfather this summer, and he began learning a bit about his parents.”  Neville’s forehead crinkled as he considered his next words.  “There are a few reasons that the three of us took advantage of the early education, and one of those reasons had to do with Harry’s family.  It’s not my story to tell, so don’t ask, but it would be a really bad mistake to compare Harry to someone _he’s_ never met and _you_ only know by hearsay and reputation.”

Fred (George?) nodded and said, “Understood.  We’ll lay off, okay.  And if by chance Harry does want to try out for the team, we promise not to gloat.”

 

Harry did not want to try out for the team, but only because he wasn’t interested in the Seeker position.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

The first week of October brought some unexpected visitors to Hogwarts: Sirius Black and Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington.  They appeared on Saturday just after breakfast, when the students and staff were still present in the Great Hall.  Sirius found Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor table while Bertie approached Professor McGonagall at the Head Table.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Sirius as he offered her a hug.  “I bring a gift from your mother, who has developed an interesting fixation on witches.”

He handed her a brown paper bag, which she accepted with a confused smile.  Hermione opened the bag and pulled out a bundle of black fabric, which she shook out to reveal a t-shirt—and then she broke out in delighted laughter.  Grinning broadly, she flipped the shirt around to show her friends.  It was a large black t-shirt with bright orange writing on the front, declaring: _Witches Are Good Spellers_.

Lavender and Parvati immediately demanded to know where they could each get one, and Sirius promised to find out for them.  He also offered to transfigure the shirt into Gryffindor colors (red and gold) but Hermione declined the offer, wanting to keep her mother’s gift in the original condition.

“So, what brings you to Hogwarts?” asked Harry as he admired the shirt and bemoaned the fact that there probably wouldn’t be one for Wizards.”

“Well,” said Sirius as he sat on the bench beside Harry, “Bertie and I brought the permission slips for you, Hermione, and Neville to take the Knight Bus home for winter break.  Bertie is up there now telling Professor McGonagall that he’ll be here on December eighteenth to escort you all to Hogsmeade to call the bus, which will carry you-eventually-to Diagon Alley, where he will then escort you all to Hermione’s home.  Lady Augusta will meet us there for dinner before taking Neville home.”

Harry’s eyes brightened with excitement.  “You guys are going to love this, but remember to not eat or drink before the trip.”

Neville rolled his eyes.  “Harry, we still have two months before break.  I’m sure you’ll get the chance to remind us again.”

Harry laughed before asking, “Why else are you here, Sirius?  Not that I’m not happy to see you, but Bertie could have come alone.”

Sirius smirked.  “Well, actually I am here to retrieve something that I left from my school days.  It was supposed to be a Charms project that I worked on with your father and one of our other friends, _and Peter_ , but it turned into something more, and I would like to have it back.  And maybe I’ll pass it along to you one day,” he added with a wink.

Harry came to attention quickly.  “Was it a fun project?”

Sirius nodded.  “It was a lot of work, but it ended up being fun.  But Filch confiscated the darn thing back before we got out of school, and James and I went on to Auror training and happy families and I guess I just forgot about it.  Which is a true shame, if you ask me.  Take my advice kiddos: if you ever create something wonderful, never forget about it.”

Harry grinned widely. “Well, now I’m really curious about it!  How do you get it back?  I mean, realistically, shouldn’t you have gotten it back at the end of your last term?”

Sirius laughed mirthlessly.  “Harry, I doubt you’ve had time to get on Filch’s hit-list, but that man never lets anything go if he can get away with it.”

 

Once the hall emptied of most of the student population, Sirius raised his wand and shouted “Accio Marauder’s Map!” and stood back to wait.  Deep under the Great Hall, in a dank room off a dank corridor, a wooden file cabinet began to thrash violently before a drawer opened and a dirty piece of parchment struggled free of its confinement and flew under the closed and locked door and drifted on an invisible breeze until it reached the stairs.  Several minutes later, the parchment zipped out of the stairwell and down the main corridor until it whooshed into Great Hall and into Sirius’ waiting hands.

Sirius smiled with satisfaction as he studied the parchment, and Harry stood on tip-toes to see over his shoulder.  “I don’t see what’s so special about that, Sirius.”

By this time, Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, eager to speak with their former student, had joined the small group while Bertie went off on other business.  Sirius turned to face his former professors and brandished the parchment.  “This,” he said grandly, “is the culmination of every late-night journey through the halls of Hogwarts Castle that the good professors never found out about.  This is the product of weeks of research and spellwork and lost sleep.  I present to you, Deputy Headmistress McGonagall: **_The Marauder’s Map_**!”

Sirius gave a mock-bow in her direction while handing the blank parchment to her, and McGonagall’s eyes narrowed in disbelief.

“I believe, Filius,” she said doubtfully, “that we may have been hasty to grant graduation to several students in 1974.”  McGonagall flipped the parchment over in her hands, inspecting it for… _anything_ , but finding nothing.  No writing, no microscopic illustrations, no enlargement spells or obvious charm work.  “If this is their supposed best work, clearly we were lax with our education.”

Sirius laughed heartily and took back the ‘map’.  “Allow me to demonstrate, Professors.”  He tapped the parchment with the tip of his wand and said, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” and immediately the parchment began to enlarge to five times its regular size, and ink lines and pictures began to form.  Very quickly the image cleared and became a recognizable outline of Hogwarts Castle, with all of the towers, dungeons, classrooms, halls, closets, and grounds clearly identifiable.  Even more interesting were the footprints, which were labeled with names, that were moving around the halls and dorms and grounds.  Every occupant of the castle was listed, along with their current position within the walls and the direction they were walking.

Delighted, Harry was quick to point out their group in the Great Hall.  “Sirius, this is amazing!”

And it was.  The trick steps on the staircases were clearly marked.  The secret passages between class wings were clearly marked.  There were even secret passages that led out of the castle that were clearly marked.  Everything, and everyone, was labeled with incredible accuracy, with the exception of a bizarrely empty area on the seventh floor.  They could even read the occupants of each dormitory, which was cool and just a bit invasive.

As Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were marveling over the map, Harry noticed an incongruency in Gryffindor tower.

“Hey, Sirius, it looks like your map has a glitch.”

Sirius frowned.  “What do you mean, Harry?  It looks like it works just fine.”

Harry pointed to the supposedly empty First Year Boys’ Dorm.  “Look there.  I know for a fact that all of the First Years are out on the grounds watching Quidditch practice—because I was headed there myself—but this shows someone named P. Pettigrew in our dorm.  We have me, Neville, Seamus, Dean, and Ron, but there is no ‘P’ name in our class.”

The immediate shift from jollity to gravity was stunning, and Sirius growled to Professor McGonagall, “I’ll stay here with the kids and watch the map; you go and Floo the Aurors.  Ask for Amelia Bones directly!”  McGonagall quickly scurried off to place the call.

“Sirius,” said Harry carefully, “what’s going on?”

“Remember when I told you about my arrest?”  Harry nodded gravely, never taking his off the map.  Hermione and Neville sat down on the bench behind them, knowing something bad was happening but not understanding what.

“Everybody thought I was the Secret Keeper that was supposed to be keeping your parents safe.  Everybody thought I betrayed them and led Voldemort to them, but I didn’t.  In fact, it was my idea to switch Secret Keeper from me to Peter Pettigrew.”

At once, Harry understood why Sirius and the professors were so tense: somehow, the person who betrayed his parents was in his dormitory.  If Sirius was arrested and imprisoned for that crime—and the crime of murder when Peter (Sirius never gave his last name) was thought to have been killed—then Harry assumed that the Aurors would be very interested in capturing Pettigrew.  Harry wondered for a moment how Pettigrew could have gotten into the dorm, but then he remembered that the man could transform into a rat, and it would be easy to sneak into the castle that way.

 

The Aurors seemed to take forever, and Sirius and Professor Flitwick spent the tense time chatting with the three teens about their class work.  It at least made the time go faster, but Hermione almost broke her fingers wringing her hands in anxiety.  As soon as Professor McGonagall returned to the Great Hall with Director Amelia Bones and a small troop of Aurors, Sirius squeezed Harry’s shoulder and rose to meet them.

When what appeared to be a small Auror army headed toward the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, Professor Flitwick and Bertie urged Harry, Hermione, and Neville to give them a tour of the running trails they had been using since the second week of school.  On the way out the main door, Harry shot a glance over his shoulder, hoping everything would now be okay with Sirius.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

Lady Circe stood in front of a huge, ornate mirror in her sleeping chamber above her classroom, passing information to Lady Nimue back at Summerisle Headquarters.

With urging from the Goblins at the London branch of Gringott’s Bank, there was a hunt for the remaining soul fragments left by Dark Lord Voldemort.  While the Order of Summerisle was convinced that Voldemort would not return (and that he posed no danger to the rest of the world anyway), they agreed to help destroy the rest of the fragments if they could find them.  Lucius Malfoy helped greatly by handing in ‘The Book’, a cursed diary that Tom Riddle turned into a horcrux during his own school days, Sirius Black found ‘The Locket’ hiding with a slightly deranged House Elf in his family townhouse, and the goblins screamed holy hell when they found ‘The Cup’ hiding in the vault of Deatheater Bellatrix LeStrange--under their very noses.  According to the working theory, Voldemort was going to use an elemental ritual to bring himself back to life if he ever reached the point of death, so the fact that the goblins had destroyed those three objects should have totally negated any possible return.

But better safe than sorry.

“I’m very certain that I have a lock on ‘The Crown’, which oddly enough everybody here would like to see returned to the castle.”

Lady Nimue’s eyebrows shot to her forehead.  “Whatever do you mean?”

Circe smirked.  “Well, apparently way back, long ago, Rowena Ravenclaw’s own daughter, Helena, stole her mother’s legendary diadem, which was supposed to increase wisdom and intelligence to anyone who wore it, and ran off to the continent.  She was unfortunately killed—long story, dear—and returned to the castle as a ghost.  The diadem was long lost, never to be heard of again, and Ravenclaws for centuries have been searching for it.

“Rumor by ghost around here says that an adult Tom Riddle came back to the school to seek employment and he cozied up to Helena Ravenclaw’s ghost, flattering her and playing up her wit and brain and feeding her enormous ego.  He didn’t get the job, and as a result he cursed the position—Defense Against the Dark Arts, if you were curious.  But what if he managed to get the location of that diadem from Helena Ravenclaw?”

Nimue gave her a shrewd look.  “You know where it is.”

Circe smirked.  “I have a good idea of where it is.  I just need to chat with one of the Hogwarts House Elves to make certain.  After I discovered that chamber under the dungeon—and might I add that Salazar Slytherin was a lunatic for keeping a basilisk in this school—I figured that the diary was turned after a death in the school in the 1940s.  Myrtle Warren confirmed that she was killed in that bathroom, and that she was a classmate of Tom Riddle—and that she was a real thorn in his side while they were in school together, although she never saw it that way.  Tom Riddle was a sneaky sneak who did a lot of damage to this school, even after he was graduated and gone.”

Nimue wrinkled her nose in distaste.  “I’ll have to do some research into this Riddle person.  If you do locate ‘The Crown’ in that castle, then that will be the official fourth soul fragment to destroy; discounting the fragment removed from Harry Potter, of course.  That will leave ‘The Ring’, and I have no idea what that could be.  The answer may be found somewhere in Riddle’s past, so I’ll put some effort into digging there.”

Circe shrugged.  “He’s a bit of a mystery, really.  None of the ghosts I’ve spoken with really knew him while he was a student here.  Even the Bloody Baron had nothing to say about him, and he’s the Slytherin ghost.”  Circe sniffed, “Of course, the Bloody Baron is still fixated on Helena Ravenclaw after all these centuries, so he might not notice much around here.  I’m really very unhappy about having him and Helena hanging about the school, you know.  There are teenage romances springing up all over the place, and I’m not sure it’s healthy for the remnants of such a doomed one-sided romance lingering in the halls.”

Nimue laughed softly.  “Before we exorcize the castle, why not clean the place up first.  Although I do have plans for that poltergeist, so if you can snag him, please do.”

“Oh, sure!” exclaimed Circe, “Send me after the one spook in this entire castle that seems determined to avoid me!”

 

          @@@

 

A soft ‘POP’ drew Circe’s attention away from the novel she was reading, and she looked up to see Grimsby, Harry Potter’s House Elf, standing in the center of her classroom.

“Hello, Grimsby,” she said as she set aside her book.  “What brings you here in the middle of the night?”

“Grimsby was setting reflective lights on the trails,” the elf replied, “and I had found some news for you regarding a special room in this castle.”

Circe sat forward and grinned.  “Will it help me in my hunt?”

Grimsby nodded quickly, his huge bat-like ears wagging with the movement.  “There is a room here where you can finds anything.”

Circe’s eyebrows shot high on her forehead.  “Find _anything_?  That does sound interesting.  Where is this room?”

Grimsby straightened his shoulders and moved toward the door.  “The room be on the seventh floor, where there is a long, blank wall.  The room is there.  The castle elves call it the come and go room.”

“Oh!  So the room isn’t there all the time.  Do you know how it works, Grimsby?”

Grimsby nodded again.  “Grimsby can shows you, if you wants me to.”

Circe threw a sweater across her shoulders and reached for the elf’s hand.  “Oh, I wants, Grimsby.  I really, really wants!”

 

Expecting to run the halls and job up stairs, Circe was mildly surprised when Grimsby simply ‘POPped’ her into the seventh floor corridor to a spot in front of a tapestry depicting a wizard trying to teach trolls to dance ballet.  Circe shuddered at the sight and turned to the elf.

“Okay, so how does this work?”

Grimsby gestured to the blank wall.  “Yous has to pass back and forth three times here, and thinks of what you really need.  You has to be clear in your thought, and the room will make it so.”

Circe nodded and began to pace back and forth, three times, thinking clearly “I really need to find Ravenclaw’s lost diadem.”  After the third pass, a door appeared in the center of the wall.  Cautiously, Circe opened the door, revealing a large, dark, empty space.  In the center of all the black space was a pedestal in a spotlight, and on the pedestal perched a gleaming, jeweled circlet with a large blue gemstone in the center.  On either side of the blue gem was a diamond-studded bird holding a golden branch in its beak.  It was incredibly tacky, but Circe recognized it from illustrations in Ravenclaw’s journals (found in the library Founders Reference section, because Circe could read the books there even if she couldn’t check them out or assign them).  She slowly approached the pedestal so that she could retrieve the diadem, but the closer she got the more clearly she could feel the Darkness emanating from it.

Circe whipped her sweater from around her shoulders and dropped it over the diadem, wrapping it tightly and grabbing it.  When she left the dark room, the door closed behind her—and disappeared.  Circe looked at the happy elf and smiled broadly.

“You’ve been a great help, Grimsby.  Come back to my quarters, and I’ll treat you to a hot cocoa.”

Grimsby beamed at her and bounced in place, clapping his hands.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

“Eureka!”

The shout of glee came accompanied by a loud clap of thunder and a piercing stab of lightning.  It was Halloween, and there was a rare and violent storm surging around the magical enclave of Summerisle of the Deep.  There were no fishing boats in the distance, no gulls flying overhead.  The weather had turned completely horrible on the morning of October Thirty-first, and the storm had not abated over the course of the day.  Inside Order Headquarters, Order members and house elves busied themselves with research or card games or knitting projects, totally ignoring the raging weather outside.  Until a flash of lightning, at least.  Then they all turned toward a window and marveled at the wonders of nature.

Frantic footsteps ran toward the lounge of Headquarters, and a door was thrown open.

“Eureka!” Theseus again shouted as he entered the lounge (he always was a bit of a drama queen).

“Yes,” said Nimue, rolling her eyes.  “We heard you the first time.  What have you discovered this time?  Fault-proof time-travel?  Knee-less flamingos?”

“No!  I found the life history of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort!”

Cadmus slapped a hand over his eyes and groaned.  “You mean that horrid name is an anagram?  Don’t these Dark Lords have any imagination?”

Nimue slapped Cadmus’ shoulder and directed her attention to Theseus.  “Did you find anything helpful?”

“Oh, yes!” said Theseus.  “I found out everything! Do we have time?”

Nimue glanced out the window, where lightning once again streaked across the sky.  “I think we have time.”

 

So Theseus told what he had found: who Riddle’s parents were (and love potions really were abominations) and where he was raised.  How he rose to power on the backs of the gullible and fanatic.  How he created his Dark Mark and what its purpose really was.

At the end of the tale Nimue had some idea of where to look for ‘The Ring’, which was the last soul fragment to be found.  The Gaunt Family Seat had fallen to disrepair and ruin, but it was still magically protected, and a search of the magical globe showed the dim shielding over Little Hangleton, outside of Carlisle.  Since there was a non-magical estate near the Gaunt holding that was registered to the Riddle family, that seemed like a good place to look.

Nimue was also dismayed, but not surprised, to learn that young Tom Riddle had had one constant visitor during his time in the orphanage he was born in: an agent of the Outreach Department named Albus Dumbledore (the orphanage records, which were on paper and filed away where a wizard would not think to look, gave dates and times of each visit, even if the administrators were Obliviated after each visit).  It appeared also that Riddle kept a journal of everything his ‘special visitor’ talked with him about—all of the Dark spells Riddle began to practice as a child when he tortured his fellow orphans before attending Hogwarts.

Nimue closed the glowing file drawer that held the recorded account of every magical deed of one Tom Marvolo Riddle (every Magical person had a drawer and a detailed accounting of their life’s deeds) and made a plan to send a party of Order members to Little Hangleton before the Yule holiday.  Retrieving that ring was paramount.


	17. Chapter Twelve: October/November/Early-December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I mentioned that there be no canon here, but I can't stress that enough.  
> I'm really about to mess with the mythology here, so if you hate to see Harry Potter messed with, stop reading now.  
> You have been warned!

**Chapter Twelve: October/November/Early-December**

“Is that what I think it is?”

It took two weeks of research and planning before the Elf clean-up team was ready to converge on what used to be Marvolo Gaunt’s home.  It was a ruin now, but seemed to never quite be in good repair, with crumbling walls and a corrupted Floo.  Even the well on the property was poisoned with a level of Darkness that nobody could believe.  If not for the fact that the Gaunt family was descended from the Peverelle family, and distantly from Salazar Slytherin himself, the house would have fallen completely apart in a stiff wind, but some Family Magic is strong no matter what.

Rather than send wizards in to hunt for the ring, Lady Nimue decided to send specially trained House Elves, who used their magic to strip layers of protection carefully from the walls and floors and ceilings systematically, one by one, until only the barest hint of Ancient Magic remained.  After each layer was removed, they sent a progress report back to the Order of Summerisle so that they could remain safe and receive further instruction.  As each new disturbing thing was uncovered, Lady Nimue offered stronger and stronger magical protections to the Elves—until the final layer of ‘ICK’ was removed; then the Order converged upon the wreckage to see for themselves what all the hubbub was about.

It was a lot.

For one thing, the Order learned that the Gaunts, and through them Tom Riddle, were distantly related to one Harry Potter (Harry was a descendent of Ignotus Peverelle, the third and youngest brother from a famous myth, and the Gaunts descended from Cadmus Peverelle, the oldest brother).  This did not actually make Harry Potter a descendent of Salazar Slytherin, but he was a distant cousin—many, many times removed.  They also learned that Tom Riddle, raised in a non-magical orphanage, had developed a strong hatred for the Pure Blood elitists that turned their backs on him while he was attending Hogwarts (despite becoming a Prefect for Slytherin House).  Through their examination of the Motivational Magic that set up the wards and protections on the dilapidated house, they discovered a deeply entrenched hatred of, and a desire to destroy, all Blood Purists—which came as quite a shock to all of the ICWW Aurors working for the Order of Summerisle, because they knew about all of the Blood Purists that became followers of Lord Voldemort.

The last thing they all learned upon the dissolution of the protections was that Tom Riddle had no respect for family relics and no working knowledge of Magical Artifacts.

“Yes,” replied Cadmus as he approached the artifact in question, “that is what you think it is, Agent Manzini, and I must insist that you make no move to touch it.  There is a compulsion charm on that ring, which means it’s probably cursed with something vile.”

Manzini, normally very composed, actually sputtered.  “But…but… _why_ would this man do such a thing to…to…UGH!  I am _so_ glad he is dead, because I would so very much like to rip his corrupt skeleton from his evil skin!”

Cadmus didn’t even have the inclination to be amused at Manzini’s dismay because he was focusing on cancelling the compulsion charm so that ‘The Ring’ could be removed from the house before it fell down around them.  For some reason, Riddle wanted someone to put the ring on, and given his history that meant a curse was also on the ring, and it was most likely a very ugly curse.

But it wasn’t a Parsel-Magic curse, so removing it was only a matter of using a very strong Parsel-Magic Anti-curse.  After using a very strong Parsel-Magic anti-charm to remove the compulsion.

Once that was done, the ring was turned over to Manzini so that he could take it to the Goblin Healers, with orders that the Soul Fragment be removed but the ring should remain intact.  Cadmus was determined that the ring would be returned to Summerisle of the Deep intact.  Lady Nimue would want to deal with it personally.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Sirius Black was in a quandary, and it was all Gabriel Manzini’s fault.

“I realize that this is an unusual and uncomfortable request, but you claim to know the property and I trust you best as a guide.”

Sirius worried his bottom lip for a moment before responding.  “It’s not like I was a frequent visitor, you know.  I’d only been there once before the attack, and my memory of its location was disrupted by the Fidelis Charm, so I was only able to visit twice before the attack.  Why do you feel the need to go?”

Manzini ran an agitated hand through his hair, mussing it terribly before composing himself.  “The ICWW wants to announce the final destruction of Riddle at the upcoming Wizengamot session, and it would be very nice if we could answer once and for all the question of how a fifteen-month-old infant could vanquish such a powerful wizard.  Of course, there may be nothing to find at all, which would have us in the same position as we are now on that subject.”

Sirius sat heavily in his leather desk chair, one of the few remaining pieces of furniture left in the ‘office’ of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place.  The goblin cleaning crew had taken everything else to have it decontaminated because everything in that property was infested with Dark Magic and doxies.

“Well, actually, it should be in the exact same state it was in directly after the attack.  When I felt in my Core the loss of my brother-in-magic, I headed there immediately, and I found the destruction.  I had just removed Harry from the wreckage when Hagrid arrived, so I placed an incredibly strong Stasis Charm over the entire property.  My personal Magic had not diminished by that point, and I managed to not slip into insanity in Azkaban, so the Stasis should still be holding.  Even if it has slipped in the last ten years, it may not have slipped much.”

Manzini nodded.  “Would you be okay with taking me to see this place?  I know there is a lot of hurt contained there.”

“Honestly?”  Sirius sighed.  “I’d rather see it now, and get the answers you hope you’ll find there, before clearing the place up and allowing Harry to see it.  I’ll be honest, there is a grave in the Godric’s Hollow cemetery, and the stone has both names on it, but nobody could have gotten past that Stasis without my permission, so the bodies should still be there.”

Manzini cringed at the implication.  “We should take care of that first of all, then.  It would not do for a member of the press to discover that.  How on earth did there come to be a grave with no bodies?”

Sirius shrugged.  “I suppose Dumbledore did or said something to cover for it.  When I last spoke to Bertie about the whole issue, he told me that there had been murmurings about a possible shrine, but it had not been voted on as yet, so that grim discovery was left untouched.  If we go, I’ll require a Goblin Recovery crew to go with us.  Harry should have any family treasures that were not recalled into his vaults, and the bodies should be disintegrated and entombed in that empty grave.”

Manzini nodded in agreement and stalked to the Floo to call Gringott’s Bank to make plans.

 

          @@@

 

Sirius stared uncomfortably at the ramshackle house in front of him.  The cottage in Godric’s Hollow, which housed the Potter family for almost a year, had not changed one bit since he put the Stasis Charm on it in 1981.

It was depressing as hell to know that the interior of the cottage would reveal the bodies of James and Lily Potter; to know that James would be the first thing he saw once he crossed the threshold since the man died trying to keep Voldemort out of the house.  He quickly found that he could not do it—he could not go back into that cottage until his lost friends had been dealt with.

Sirius stood back and allowed the goblins to enter the first, thankful that Harry was away at school and was blissfully unaware that this was going on.  He would write to the boy later, after the unpleasant business was finished here, but there was no need to distress him before hand.  Since it was only a week into November already, it would seem as if no time had passed at all, as the anniversary date of the Potter's deaths was October 31st.

Manzini stood back in the road beside Sirius, offering silent support while the goblins worked.  Sirius was thankful for it, but could not help but wish that another old friend, Remus Lupin, was with him instead.  Sirius hadn’t really given Lupin a thought in all the time since he got out of Azkaban; he didn’t even know where Lupin was or if he was aware that Sirius was free at all.  Once this nastiness was over and done with, perhaps Sirius would try to locate the werewolf.  Mr. Axesmith had proven to be a close ally to both him and Harry, so perhaps he could help.

Moments later, after several bright flashes of purple light shone through the damaged and broken windows, the lead goblin came through the door and announced that they were finished.  He offered two hollow geodes to Sirius, but the stunned man could only direct the goblin to the cemetery with a second-hand description of the headstone.  He just could not bear to handle the final remains of the couple who had trusted him with their only child—a trust he had broken with the urge for revenge ten years prior.

Once the goblins had gone, Manzini gestured for Sirius to lead the way into the cottage.  He felt a cold chill once he crossed the doorway, which could have been an indication of the Stasis Charm, and he quickly moved into the front parlor.  Damage to the interior of the cottage was minimum, which only figured because Voldemort favored the Avada Kedavra most of all unless he was torturing someone, and that curse left practically no trace behind.  There were a few scorch marks on the wall next to the front door—indication that James fought before he was overcome—but the room was mostly untouched.  Sirius ran his hand across the back of the comfortable sofa in the parlor, upset that there was not even dust to mark the passage of time.

“Where was the boy found, Black?” asked Manzini as he surveyed the quaint living space.

Sirius nodded to the staircase.  “The nursery was the second door on the right at the top of the stairs.  The window faced the back garden, where Lily grew her own herbs and potions ingredients.”

Manzini nodded.  “I can go up alone if you prefer.”

“No,” said Sirius as he joined the taller man by the stairs.  “I think I need to see for myself whatever you find, even if it’s nothing.  Plus, I’d like to grab Harry’s plush dragon.  If he doesn’t want it, I’d like to keep it for myself.”

The trip up the short flight was the longest of Sirius’ life, moving into the room where he found his crying godson sitting in a crib overlooking his deceased mother.  That room, also, was untouched by time, and Sirius was glad the goblins had removed Lily’s body before he entered it, because that sight was forever burned into his memory. 

He stood motionless in the doorway while Manzini crept carefully around the room, scanning it with a location charm Sirius had never seen before.  An eternity passed before Manzini uttered a low exclamation and moved the crib away from the wall.  Sirius entered the room then, certain that he would disturb nothing if Manzini had actually found something—and he had indeed found something.  A small, purple-black glass vial, broken but not shattered, and clearly triangular in shape.

“What is that?” Sirius asked lowly

Manzini waved his wand over the vial to confirm the magic it once held before answering.  “This is a ‘Prigiunera Maternu’ vial, and it’s very strong protective magic.”

Sirius looked closely at the glass, but he still did not recognize it.  “I’ve never seen one before.”

Manzini carefully wrapped the broken vial in soft leather before placing an Imperturbable Charm on it and placing it in his cloak pocket.  “No, I don’t imagine you have seen one.  It’s a Veela artifact, actually, and it proves just how seriously Mrs. Potter took the threat on her son’s life.  That she went out of her way to obtain such an item shows her strength of character and her personal power, as this could only be given by a Veela matriarch; never purchased or bartered for.”

“I see,” said Sirius, impressed (thought he shouldn’t have been).  “What does it do?”

Manzini began to clear the debris of fallen books and blankets from in front of the crib, revealing a circle of runes on the floor.  “A ‘Prigiunera Maternu’ vial is meant to hold a certain amount of a mother’s personal magic, kept near a child for protection.  Left alone, it boosts general protection charms like this circle, and it light green in color.  It could have added protection to Harry as he grew until he reached his first Maturity, and it would have made him very strong Magically while he grew.  But broken like this, the magical protection would be released in an explosion of raw Magic.  It could explain how there was no body left of Mrs. Potter’s attacker, because that explosion would have disintegrated any danger to her child, even if she was dead at the time.”

Sirius frowned as he looked at the runic circle on the floor.  “So that vial broke when Lily was killed, then?”

“No.  She would have had to break the vial herself—one last resort to protect her child.  That is what these runes did.  The sigils are an obscure magical language, but these two here are ‘to break’ and ‘to defend’.  Basically, it looks as if she knew she would die to protect her child, so she took pains to make certain he survived no matter what.  Once her life-force left her body, she fell over this circle, and her death activated the runes—which broke the vial and destroyed Riddle’s body.”

“And then those Soul Fragments made certain that he didn’t actually die, but he was no longer an immediate danger to Harry.”  Sirius whistled lowly.  “I always knew she was brilliant, but I think I under-estimated her.”

“Apparently, Riddle did as well.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Lord Sirius Black strode confidently through the atrium of the Ministry of Magic on his way to the final Wizengamot session of the year.  This was his first session since taking the mantle of Lord Black, and he really was not looking forward to it.  All of those stuffed shirts making themselves seem way too important never really appealed to him, but in this session they were slated to hear a report about a potential rising Dark Lord, from a respected member of the ICWW no less, and Sirius was really looking forward to seeing the reactions of all those stuffed shirts.  He was also looking forward to seeing their reactions to the rest of the news coming from the ICWW.  He smirked as he thought about the words he once heard by a non-magical popular singer: the times, they are a changing.

As he strolled toward the Wizengamot Chamber, Sirius noted that several of the Ministry employees he passed were looking rather peaked, and he wondered about that.  Wizards were not usually prone to illness, as their magical cores took care of their bodies.  There were illnesses, like Splattergoit and Dragon Pox, that were spread by infectious fungi, and Black Cat Flu, which was an annoyingly virulent version of influenza, but all were treatable with potions and rest.  All these people really needed was to see a healer and to stay home so that they didn’t spread their contagion.  Sirius took a wide berth around them and moved on, heading into the Wizengamot Chamber to meet with Bertie before the session began.

As soon as Sirius entered the Chamber he was met by a (moderately) concerned Lucius Malfoy, who never really appeared comfortable to be in the presence of Sirius.  That could be because Sirius held Primacy over the Black/Malfoy union, or because Sirius was once imprisoned for crimes that Lucius could well have been guilty of.  Or it could even be because Lucius’ wife, Narcissa, had very recently become re-involved with her sister, Andromeda, who was both married to a half-blood wizard and Sirius’ favorite cousin—so Lucius had to either accept the renewed relationship with open arms (if not an open heart) and deal with the fact that Sirius would be more present in their lives, or he could ignore the whole situation and risk alienating his wife.  For whatever reason, Lucius was having difficulty being in proximity to Sirius—and he really hated asking for any help from Sirius, which is what he looked like he was about to do.

“Lucius,” Sirius greeted, “what can I do for you this fine day?”

Lucius wrinkled his aristocratic nose minutely.  “There are several…issues that I must discuss with you before the session begins, if you have a moment.”

Sirius noted that Lucius was absently rubbing his left forearm through his robes, but he declined to mention it, instead directing Lucius to a private alcove within the Chamber and erecting a privacy shield.  “What did you need to discuss, Lucius?”

Lucius for the most part looked as if he had bitten into a sour persimmon, which Sirius decided wasn’t really unusual.  “Since I delivered ‘The Book’ that was left in my possession, there have been…developments…and I find myself unsure how to deal with them.”

Sirius’ eyebrows shot toward his hairline.  “And you’re coming to me for advice?”

Lucius shifted slightly on his feet.  “The Malfoy Family Magic is not as strong as it once was.  I have several distant cousins in the Basque region who do very well for themselves, but I was the Heir for the majority of the Family Legacy.  Even so, I maintain only three House Elves within my household: one for the grounds, one for the kitchen and laundry, and one for general housework.

“While that damnable Book was in my possession, I kept it in a shielded cabinet in my late father’s office—a room kept sealed so that my family could not enter.  I never went into that office if I could help it, and I had ordered that the Elves were to leave it alone, but the household Elf was once a rather…diligent…worker, and he cleaned _all_ of the rooms meticulously.  I fear that exposure, even shielded exposure, has damaged him somewhat, and I am at a loss as how to deal with him.”

Sirius frowned.  “Is he acting like he’s a danger to the family?”

Lucius shook his head.  “No.  He’s still performing his duties, although not at the same level he had been, but he has taken to ‘punishing’ himself for perceived disobediences.  Several times in the last month, Mercy, my kitchen Elf, has reported that Dobby has come into the laundry area, very sad and despondent, and announced that he has somehow disgraced his family—and then he began to iron his own ears.”

Sirius shuddered in alarm.  “Lucius, that’s not good.  For all his own insanity, Kreacher never turned on himself.”

Lucius gave a sharp nod.  “I am aware that his behavior is alarming.  As I said, I have only the three Elves.  They keep to themselves, as all good servants do, but Dobby was once very close to my son, and I hesitate to think what he might do in the presence of my son—or possibly _to_ my son.  You have some experience with this type of thing; can you help me?”

Sirius nodded absently.  “Well, not personally, of course, but I can have Bertie contact someone.  I was going to talk to you about this anyway—well, not about _this_ specifically; I was going to mention sending Kreacher to work with you after he is healed.  He needs to serve the Black family, and he doesn’t trust me because of my mother, so I figured Narcissa would be the best bet.”

“Not Andromeda?”

Sirius snorted delicately.  “I have full confidence that Kreacher will be completely healed and in full power when he returns, but my mother hated non-magicals and half-bloods.  Even when he’ll be in his right mind, that kind of conditioning will make him uncomfortable around non-magicals, and Ted Tonks came from non-magical parents.  I would never want any of them to have to suffer that kind of discomfort.”

Lucius nodded sharply.  “I will gladly accept this Elf into my household, then.  Can you get help for Dobby?”

“Yeah,” Sirius sighed.  “I’ll have Bertie call his contacts.  But Lucius, if the healing works on Dobby, he’ll have to be re-housed.  If you completely abandon him, it might break him completely, because he will _know_ it was you that sent him away.”

“I will give it some consideration during the session today.  Perhaps we can make a simple familial exchange, Kreacher for Dobby, to unite our two houses?”

Sirius frowned a bit.  “That might work, and Merlin knows I’ll need an Elf to take care of the house until I can bond with more.  Let’s wait and see how the healing works.  Now, what else is on your mind?”

Lucius looked around the Chamber to see if they were being observed, but the only other early occupants were in their own small alliance clusters discussing the day’s agenda and were paying them no mind.  Still, he turned his back on the Chamber so that he was fully facing Sirius, and he rolled back the left sleeve of his neatly pressed dress robes, revealing clear, unblemished skin.

“Since I handed that Book to you, my Dark Mark had been itching like mad, and I thought I would lose my mind from the sensation.  Then, two days ago, I undressed for the shower and noticed this.”

Sirius frowned as he examined the arm in front of him.  “Um, I’m not going to claim to understand how that thing worked, but wasn’t it supposed to be irremovable, even if the Dark Lord expired?”

Lucius nodded jerkily as he unrolled his sleeve to cover his arm.  “It was meant as a permanent reminder of our service to the Dark Lord—and to identify us to each other in the unlikely event of his demise.  He always told us that there might be a time when he would disappear to gain strength, so we would have to work together to keep his memory alive for his return.  When he was vanquished, I will admit to being relieved.  I went about my own business, trying to rebuild the Malfoy reputation and influence, and I ignored the other so-called ‘Impiriused’ Death Eaters.  They all tried to bring me into their businesses, but I refrained and pulled away, and I made Malfoy respectable again.  And now…this.”

Sirius shrugged.  “I don’t know what to tell you, Lucius.  Perhaps you _really_ meant it when you said you’d reformed.  Maybe Magic took notice and _fixed_ you.  Unless that Mark reappears, I’d just be thankful that you can’t be held to it anymore.  That may just serve you well in this session today.  If I call out any marked Death Eaters and demand they be removed from the Wizengamot, you’ll be exempt from that demand.”

Lucius looked stunned.  “Are you going to make that call?”

“I don’t know, Lucius.  I might not have to, but _someone_ might.  Have you seen the agenda for today?  Dark Lords are going to factor big time, and if there’s a new one on the rise, do you really think this ruling body will be comfortable knowing followers of the old one are still at large?”

Sirius was actually looking forward to seeing their reactions to the news that Voldemort was really, finally, gone and disposed of.  They probably wouldn’t believe it.

Without another word, Sirius cancelled the privacy shield, and Lucius wandered off to his seat in the Chamber.  Sirius found Bertie, finally, and nodded in greeting as he made his way to the Black seat.

 

“Lord Black,” said a voice from behind him, and Sirius turned to see Amos Diggory from the Department of Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures hurrying toward him.  Sirius paused on his journey but inwardly rolled his eyes.

“Diggory,” he acknowledged, to be polite, but he really wasn’t feeling it. 

Amos Diggory offended Sirius on general principle.  His politics were offensive and his stand on Werewolf Rights and Regulations (more specific, the complete lack of rights and the constricting regulations) angered Sirius greatly, especially since one of Sirius’ oldest and best friends happened to be one of those overly-regulated werewolves who would never really be free in Wizarding Britain.  One of the things Sirius wanted most to see implemented in the general public was the idea that werewolves were people and not _creatures_ , and were not automatically Dark just because they were afflicted.

Still, Sirius was a Lord of the Realm, and had to publicly attempt to hold himself above such things.

Diggory reached his side and offered a hand in polite greeting, which Sirius was obliged to shake.

“It’s good to see you out and about, Lord Black.  I was looking forward to seeing you in session this morning.”

Sirius raised one eyebrow.  “Were you now?  Whatever for?”

Diggory paused, shocked momentarily into silence.  It didn’t last long.  “Well—I suppose you’ll be speaking about the conditions at Azkaba-a-annnnnnnn….”

He trailed off when Sirius glared at him.

“Diggory, let me give you some advice: When you’re about to put your foot in your mouth, make certain everything about you is clean.”

Diggory grew red in the face, and he blustered on.  “What is that supposed to mean, Black?”

Sirius smiled meanly.  “It means that your politics are dirty, Diggory, and they stink.  My purpose in the Wizengamot is to clean the place up and make this country a better place, or see it razed to the ground.  You might want to think about what side of the wall you want to be on when everything goes down.”

Sirius turned and left the stunned man gaping after him.

 

          @@@

 

The Chief Warlock for the Wizengamot was absent for this session, which unfortunately was not an unusual occurrence—and it was one thing Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington and his voting bloc wanted to address before the new year.  Since a guest speaker from the ICWW was slated to speak in this session, this seemed like a great time to bring it up.  Certainly the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards would back-up any plan to replace Dumbledore as Chief Warlock, as there was a need for a neutral party to mediate over bickering parties.  Dumbledore clearly had an agenda that had very little to do with regulating the safety and well-being of British citizens, but he has presumed power and Minster Fudge was only too happy to pander to the old wizard.

Bertie nodded in greeting to Sirius Black from across the Chamber before joining his own ‘friends’.  He made note of the disagreement Sirius seemed to be having with one of the minor Ministry employees, and he turned to Lord Graham Mendleson and asked, “Who is that fellow with Lord Black?”

Mendleson glanced across the Chamber to the Commons Section before answering, “That is Amos Diggory.  He works in the Department for Regulation and Control.”  The sneer in Mendleson’s voice was enough to tell Bertie how Mendleson felt about that particular department.

“Know the fellow, do you?” Bertie asked.

Mendleson cocked one eyebrow slightly.  “Diggory is one of the fools that were trying to pass a measure that would _enslave_ House Elves and make them Ministry Property, to be _rented out_ to lesser households to raise money for Ministry use.”

Bertie huffed in annoyance.  “At least clearer heads prevailed on that vote.”

“For now, yes,” Mendleson agreed.  “But there are many people from minor families who are upset that they cannot support House Elves and would welcome such a measure.”

“Then those people are idiots and do not deserve the honor of a House Elf,” Bertie growled.

“Of course I agree,” said Mendleson calmly, “but our bloc is in a close minority.  Many things will have to change within Britain, and one session of the Wizengamot will not do that.”

Bertie led the way to their seats in the Lords section, stating obviously, “One session may change more than you know, Graham.  Times are definitely changing, and we’re about to see the beginning.”

 

Moments later, the Chamber doors opened fully and in poured Wizengamot members from all walks of life, filling most of the seats in the three sections: Lords, Commons, and Government. 

The British Wizengamot was designed to work like governments all over the Magical World, with all three branches working for the betterment and protection of the population.  Unlike in the rest of the world, however, the British Wizengamot was rife with corruption, with small factions bleeding funding public services to feed their own agendas.  Laws and regulations have been passed in the last twenty years that have taken freedom and rights away from lower-middle class citizens or afflicted peoples (like werewolves or curse-victims), funding had been taken from medical research and law enforcement, and decrees had been passed to regulate what information could be circulated within Magical Britain.  The non-Magical government was often frustrated by the insular tendencies of the Magical Government, and the British Prime Minister had been reaching out to the ICWW for assistance for some time, asking for help to ‘get that Magic Minister’s head out of his ass!’

The ICWW was about to finally answer that request.

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge came into the Chamber, followed by his favorite toady, Dolores Umbridge, and headed to the High Box, where he joined Madam Amelia Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Ms. Raspberry Finkel, the ‘court recorder’.  The tall, throne-like chair in the center of the High Box was empty of course, but there were several other empty chairs being held for guest speakers.  On the floor in front of the High Box stood a podium, already set with a pitcher of clear water and an empty glass, waiting for individual speakers to address the Wizengamot.

Once everyone was completely settled and the noise had abated, Ms. Finkel stood and introduced Minister Fudge, who promptly delivered a wordy speech that amounted to practically nothing but hot air—until he finally got to the point.

“Ahem, yes, well,” Fudge stammered, “we seem to have, in the anti-chamber, some very important members of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards, who would like to address this session of the Wizengamot.  Since Dumbledore could not attend, I’m certain they sent someone mildly important to us in his stead, so let’s all give our complete attention, shall we?”

Sirius rolled his eyes so hard he was certain to have a headache for _days_ , but he noticed that nobody else, save Amelia Bones perhaps, noticed the slight.  He almost could not wait for the political smack-down that was about to be delivered.

The Chamber doors opened once more, and in walked several stately and regal members of the ICWW, including the newly-instated Director, Madam Yuriko Fuyama.  Besides Director Fuyama, the group consisted of Special Investigators Gabriel Manzini and Claudio Ibanza, Order of Summerisle members Cadmus and Lady Nimue, and someone Sirius did not recognize: a man of some undetermined age with steel-grey hair and a long grey-and-black beard, who was dressed in faded denim cargo pants, black hiking boots, and a khaki-colored work shirt under bright purple robes.  Sirius kept his eyes on that man, because he had a small idea of who he was, and Sirius did not want to miss _that_ reveal.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Harry and Neville entered the Gryffindor Common Room right behind a panting Hermione after running their normal three-mile Wednesday route, and encountered a flustered Fred and George Weasley.

“Seriously,” asked Fred, “do you three run _every_ day?  Even in this horrid weather?”

Neville grinned at the twins.  “Well, since Harry has a private House Elf clear our paths around the grounds, yes we do.  Keeping in physical shape is good for our mental and magical health, you know.”

“Yes,” said Hermione as she wiped hair from her eyes with a sweaty hand, “and if you don’t maintain good physical condition, you could actually get hurt while flying.”

George nodded absently.  “We’ll keep that in mind, thanks.”

Hermione headed toward the stairs, and a hot shower before breakfast, and Harry glanced questioningly at the twins.  “You two aren’t normally up this early; what’s up?”

George sighed.  “I really hate to bring this up, but it’s Ron.  He’s doing really badly in, well, most of his classes.  Fred and I try to help, but he mostly moans about how everything is your fault and he would be doing better if you would just help him.”

Harry frowned and Neville sighed and headed for the stairs, leaving his friends behind.  Harry scowled after Neville, but turned toward the twins in exasperation.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but if he’s thinking of blaming me for his poor performance, then I doubt he’ll accept study help from me graciously.  And his attitude doesn’t make me want to actually offer help anyway.”

Fred groaned and sat heavily on a settee in the corner, tossing his head back so hard it almost hit the wall.  “I know all of that, Harry, but George and I are getting it from all sides here.  Percy is totally self-involved with the whole Prefect deal, and our mother is pressuring us to make certain Ron doesn’t fail out of school before the end of term.  She’s determined that Ron makes ‘the right sort’ of friends, and your name is on top of her list.”

Harry’s expression darkened, but he had himself under control before George could question it.  “Look, guys, practically all of the First Years have homework study group in the library right after dinner, every single night during the week.  All of the houses, even a few Slytherins, do basic assignments and essay work, and we all help each other.  Ron knows this.  We don’t hide it.  But every single time Ron has joined the group, he’s spent the whole time moaning about how hard the work is—and it’s not hard at all if you apply yourself.  He’s lazy, and I don’t really have patience for lazy.”

Harry started for the stairs before turning back once more and saying, “I also don’t have patience for anyone trying to force a friendship on me.  I’ve made plenty of friends on my own since I came here; all people who want to know me and laugh with me and tell me their stories.  Ron knows all of those same people, so if he doesn’t have friends, it’s not my fault.”  Harry then turned and headed for the shower.

 

At breakfast, George looked on while Harry was looking over a textbook with Dean Thomas and one of the Ravenclaw boys, Anthony Goldstein.  They seemed to be discussing an assignment, and George noticed how comfortable they seemed with each other.  George glanced around the Great Hall, observing other students interacting over breakfast: Neville Longbottom was chatting with a group of Hufflepuffs at their table, obviously discussing essay length as there was a long parchment being passed around among them, and Hermione was holding court by the massive oak doors, showing several girls from all four Houses how to perform an intricate braiding charm.  At the Gryffindor table, the older students were sitting quietly in their friend-groups and younger students were quietly reading mail from home.  The same scene was repeated at the other three House tables, with only small groups mingling between Houses.

And there sat Ron Weasley, glaring at Harry Potter as if he was personally responsible for Ron’s solitude.  For the first time in several months, George became aware of his younger brother and noticed how Ron held himself above and away from everyone else.  The sullenness only got worse after Scabbers, a pet rat Ron had inherited from Percy, had gone missing and was never seen again—and Ron had tried to blame every student that had a cat as a familiar within the castle.  No trace was ever found of that rat, and Professor McGonagall was vehemently against accusing anyone of any wrong-doing in regards to the disappearance.

George leaned into his twin and whispered, “We have to do something to engage Ron, or else everybody will have left him behind.”

“I agree,” said Fred between bites, “but do you have any idea as to how we might do that?”

George shrugged.  “I have no idea, but there is something going on and we have to learn what it is.”  Eyes brightening, George suddenly stood and waved his arms in a wide gesture, calling “Oi! Hermione!” and clearing a seat for her.

Hermione smiled at her friends and hurried over to join the twins.  “Yes?  Can I help you?”

George leaned in and said, “I’m sure you have noticed that Ron is a bit of a recluse, right?”

Hermione gave a side-glance along the table to where Ron was sitting apart from everyone else.  “Well, it’s not like we haven’t tried to be friendly.”

Fred shook his head.  “We’re not accusing you of anything.  We’re asking the smartest girl we know what she would do to help our brother make friends.”

Hermione loaded a small portion of eggs onto her plate and filled a goblet with water before answering.  “Well, the ones Harry and I are close to have all genuinely been interested in us.  They ask us what books we like or where we’ve visited on holiday, and they allow us to ask the same.  We actively try to be interested in each other.  Ron likes to talk about himself, and he has very strong opinions about things he has very little actual knowledge of, but he doesn’t seem interested in what anyone else has to say.”

Fred and George put their heads together and whispered, giving Hermione time to eat and ignore them.  Finally, after a few moments, Fred looked over at Hermione and said, “I’ve heard nice things about this picnic basket you have; that it can hold a lot of food for a lot of people?”

Hermione swallowed and nodded.  “I can’t feed the whole school, of course, but I could host a party if I wanted to.”

“Can you get another one of those baskets before Yule break?”

Hermione’s eyes widened.  “Um, I might be able to borrow one from Bertie.  Why?”

George leaned in and whispered, “We’d like to host a party….”

 

          @@@

 

With permission of the Heads of House (and Harry, Hermione, and Neville), posted announcements went up in all Common Rooms:

“ **Getting To Know Us** —an informal chat party with snacks.  Meet with students from all houses and Ask questions that really matter.  Make Friends, Make Connections, Make Better Grades.”

The concept, when presented to Deputy Headmistress McGonagall—and then passed to all Heads of House—met with mass approval:  All of the First Years, and some of the really interested Second-, and Third-Years, could meet in the Enchanted Rose Garden (temperature controlled to stay warm, and roomy enough to hold them all) to have a picnic and ask any questions they wanted, with the knowledge that nothing would be held against them and that all answers would be candid and honest.  Professor Flitwick offered to cast a Passivity Charm over the area, so that fights did not break out, but all professors vowed to avoid the area to keep the students from feeling constrained.

Harry reluctantly agreed to the idea, knowing that a lot of his fellow students were curious about him but were too polite to be really invasive.  This little party would open a lot of scars for Harry, and would likely cause many people to become very uncomfortable, but it would put a stop to the blatant curiosity.  Why the Twins hadn’t had this idea at the start of term, Harry didn’t know.  Still, better to get everything out before Yule break, when he would be apart from the whole student population for three weeks—long enough to heal from the invasion.

Because Hermione was incredibly candid about the need for another basket, Bertie gamely went through a trans-ocean portal in Gringott’s London, and crossed to America to purchase another, larger basket for the occasion.  He also linked his personal Valet-Elf, Morrie, to that basket, so Dodger would not have to work alone for the party.

On the second Saturday in November (a Hogsmeade weekend, so the upper-years were out of the castle), Hermione, Neville, and Harry were in the Rose Garden setting up tables they had transfigured from match-sticks (much to the delight of Professor McGonagall) and setting up the two Ever-Full Baskets for a buffet line.  The Weasley Twins were transfiguring rocks into cushions for informal seating, and Grimsby had cleared snow from an early snowfall from the entrance to the garden, so that anyone who was coming could easily enter.

And come they did.

All First- and Second-Year students from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, some from Ravenclaw, and several from Slytherin (which shocked everyone, but nobody said anything) all arrived in twos and threes around noon, and by twelve-fifteen everybody had a plate of food and a mug of hot tea.

They were all seated in a large circle, so that they all faced each other, and Ron was flanked by the Twins.  Since Harry was most-likely to be questioned the most, he and his two best friends were seated at the ‘head’ of the circle, waiting for the questions to begin.

Susan Bones took the first turn, gamely asking Hermione about the hair-braiding, which led to a lively discussion about unruly hair and childhood bullying.  Which led to a disclosure from one of the Slytherin students.

“I never had friends before school,” said Millicent Bulstrode, “because of my father, and Pansy just acts like a little queen in the dorm; like we all have to so what she says, when she says.  And she calls me names like ‘bulldog’ all the time.  I know I’m not pretty or anything, but I’m not dirt.”

“No,” said Hermione sternly, “you’re not.  You’re incredibly smart, Millicent, and you’re very kind, if how you treat your cat is any indication.  Always look at how someone treats the helpless to see what their character is really like, I always say.”

Millicent blushed bright pink and buried her nose in her mug, but Hannah Abbot moved to sit closer to the large Slytherin girl.

Daphne Greengrass giggled uncomfortably.  “Pansy can be a right dictator, all right, and she really is horrid to Millie.  And if we try to stand up to her, she turns on us as well.”

“Well,” said Lisa Turpin shrewdly, “I’d like to know about that book recall this summer.”

Harry blushed furiously and cleared his throat.  “Okay, this answer is kind of long and involved, so you might want to get more tea.”

There was soft laughter, but the thermal canisters were passed around, and soon everyone had fresh, hot tea.

“Okay,” sighed Harry as he settled more comfortably onto his transfigured cushion, “get ready to hear the most horrible thing ever.  Until July 31 of this year, my birthday, I was completely unaware that Magic existed.  My parents were killed and I was shipped off to live with my mother’s non-magical sister, so I never heard about Magic or Hogwarts or anything until I finally got my acceptance letter.  And it was all a huge shock, so I asked my account manager some carefully worded questions, and he realized how ignorant I really was.

“So I was ‘introduced’ to all those books that were supposedly about me, and I got really angry about them.  I mean, those people wrote all of those stories using my name, but they didn’t ask permission to do so—and they made up a lot of nonsense and linked it to me.  And the worst thing about it was, they made a lot of money off my name and those lies, but I saw none of it.  So, here I was, about to enter a whole different world full of people that were given a certain untrue idea of how I was, and I was terrified and angry.  So I got an attorney and I discussed my options, and we sued the authors and publishers to death!  My name is all that I really have, and I wasn’t about to allow people to profit off of it.”

“That’s really messed up!” exclaimed Justin Finch-Fletchley.  “How could people _do_ that?”

“It was really easy,” said Harry calmly.  “I had nobody looking out for me, you see.  I had no Magical Guardian until I went to Gringott’s to ask my questions, so there was no protection for me.”

“If you didn’t know anyone Magical until your birthday,” asked Susan Bones, “then how did you become friends with Hermione and Neville?”

Harry smirked.  “Well, that’s a result of my lack of information, really.  See, my relatives treated me like a slave, so I had no friends at all.  Every time someone tried to be friends with me in school, my cousin and his friends would beat them up and drive them off.  While I was at Gringott’s getting my school money from an account I didn’t even know I had, this girl with non-wizarding clothes and really frizzy hair was nice enough to offer a friendly shopping suggestion.  I remembered that kindness later, after I learned that Neville was supposed to be my god-brother, and I asked my new Magical Guardian to find them so that I could get to know them.  It was all really a matter of timing and location.”

“So,” said Fred shrewdly, “if anyone else had been in the bank that day, and they were nice to you, you would have wanted to be their friend as well?”

“Well, yeah,” said Harry, laughing.  “I mean, who doesn’t want friends?  Although, I did meet one other kid that day who spoke to me while I was shopping, but he was a total snot who spent the whole interaction bragging about how much money he had and how Magical he was and how important his family was…I was just finished with him before I even started.”

“Sounds like Draco Malfoy,” sniggered Millicent, and Harry laughed with her.

“Yes, actually, it was.  Which is really a shame, because I met his mother a few weeks later, and she’s really nice.”

“And how,” asked Daphne Greengrass, aghast, “did you happen to meet Malfoy’s _mother_?”

“Well,” said Harry slowly, “Narcissa Malfoy was born Narcissa Black, and she is cousin to my godfather, Sirius Black.  When he got all healed up from his unfortunate incarceration, he reached out to his family to reconnect.  Since we were getting to know each other at the time, I got invited to lunch with Narcissa and her sister, Andromeda.  Andromeda’s daughter, Dora, is a Hufflepuff Prefect, so we met her as well.”

“You certainly are fascinating, Harry Potter,” said Seamus Finnegan, laughing.

“Yeah, well, I tried hard not to be.”

That simple, humorous response caused Ron Weasley to break his sullen silence.

“If you’re trying so hard not to be special, then why did you show up richer than everybody, and smarter, and in special classes?”

His odd, cold tone caused everybody to turn and stare at him, his brothers included.

Harry took a deep, calming breath and composed himself quickly.  “Okay,” he said calmly, “I realized this whole party deal was a thinly disguised plan to dig into my psyche and learn what I was all about, and I went along with it.  I’ve asked a few questions to all of you, and I’m glad for what I’ve learned, so I can only give you the same consideration, even if most of you were too polite to ask the big questions.  I’ll answer, but I’ll require a promise from each of you to not discuss what I tell you.  Because frankly, the answer isn’t really any of your business.”

Harry kept his eye on Ron while speaking, but quickly everybody else agreed to not spread information around.  Once Ron reluctantly agreed, with nudging from the Twins, Harry stood and leaned back against one of the tables, holding his steaming mug in front of him.

“Okay, so this story—and it is a story—is also very long and involved, and it probably makes me sound very privileged.  Truth be told, I was given a unique opportunity—one that would not be offered to even the most influential of people—and I took it gladly because it healed me.  So I’ll tell you how I got to be in special classes, but first I have to tell you _why_.

“When I discovered that I had a godfather that I could live with, I was happy not to have to live with my aunt anymore—but I didn’t really know Sirius at all.  So I was given a few days to spend with just him, asking all the questions I had about my parents and the Magical World.  Sirius answered the best he could, and sometimes the answers were hard to hear.  I learned that my mother had trouble getting pregnant, and I was born after several miscarriages, which is something nobody wants to hear.  But I also learned that I was loved—before they died.

“I also learned that while my father was a fun person and a great Quidditch player, he was also a school bully, picking on students that he felt were beneath him.  And one of his targets was actually one of my mother’s best friends from before Hogwarts.  Apparently my dad thought this boy, who was from a poor family, was just dirt, and he picked on him ceaselessly, constantly forcing my mother to stand up for him.  But this kid was human and had pride, and one day he had had enough and snapped at my mother when she tried to defend him against my dad and Sirius, and it ruined their friendship.  I think that was a really lousy thing, frankly, and I’d be really disappointed in my dad if he was still alive.”

“Yeah,” said George sadly, “but what does that have to do with special classes?”

Harry took a deep sip from his mug before answering, and he felt Hermione wrap her arms around his leg and hug him in support.

“Okay, so—I supposedly look a lot like my father, okay.  Except I have green eyes like my mother.  But I swear, when Sirius first saw me, he was actually stunned, like I was my father come back to life.  So I figured that anyone who met me that knew my father would be reminded of him, and they wouldn’t automatically see just me.  That’s a heavy load to carry, especially when going to a school where all the teachers taught my father as well.  I mean, what if they expected me to be just like him, right?”

“Uh-huh,” said George.

“Yeah, well, that kid my dad picked on incessantly?  That was Severus Snape.”

There was such a collective gasp from the area that is sounded like all of the air was being sucked out of the garden.

“Yeah,” said Harry boldly.  “So, since I was going to be going into a Temporal Chamber for massive Magical Healing—and no, I’ll not be going into details about that—and I was going to be learning about being heir to and Ancient and Noble House, and magical traditions, and Wizengamot stuff, I asked to be schooled in Potions to the level that I would never have to be in Professor Snape’s class at all.”

“Because he wouldn’t treat you fairly?” asked Millicent.

“Not only that, really, but mainly so I wouldn’t give him bad memories.  If I had to face every day someone who looked exactly like my cousin Dudley, even if he didn’t act the same, it would give me nightmares.  I would never willingly do that to someone else.  It would have been like torture, and I’m not like that.”

“Okay,” said Ron reluctantly, “that explains potions, but what about History?  And what about Hermione and Neville?”

Harry nodded, as if deciding it was a fair question.  “Well, we—my Magical Guardian and Sirius and I—heard that the History teacher here was a ghost who was biased in his teaching, so we added History to my lessons in the Temporal Chamber.  Honestly, if we had known that a new teacher would be replacing Professor Binns, I would not have made that choice, and we’d all be in class together.  As for Hermione and Neville, well—Neville needed some healing as well, and he needed to learn the Heir-ship stuff as well, and Hermione was my first friend ever, so I invited them to join me in the Chamber.  Hermione’s parents were right there with us, but outside of the Chamber, so they got to know about the Magical World while we were learning inside the Chamber.  I’d have given the same offer to any good friend if their parents were okay with it.  And while it made us closer friends, it didn’t make us exclusive.  We all came here determined to make friends and to learn as much as possible.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Severus Snape was not used to receiving piteous glances while at work, and never from students.

And especially never from students in his own House.

So he would never admit to being un-nerved during the two combined First Year classes, where the students began to try doubly hard to make no mistakes and took detailed notes and caused no more disruptions during class—but also followed him with their completely piteous eyes.

But he was.  Completely.  Un-nerved.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

As Harry was packing his trunk for the trip home, making sure that Hedwig was well on her way to Morrie’s welcome arms at Bertie’s Manor-house, newspapers were being delivered all over Wizarding Britain, and the headlines were astounding.

 

**Ireland Receives Permission to Separate from Magical Britain**

                                                                             _\--Magic International_

**Shake-Up at Ministry: ICWW Threatens Sanctions**

                                                                             _\--Daily Prophet_

**You-Know-Who Really Gone!  Death-Eaters Called Out**

                                                                             _\--Daily Prophet_

**Dark Lord on the Rise; ICWW Plans Arrests**

                                                                             _\--Ars Magica News_

**Educational Reform on Agenda: New ICWW Regulations Passed**

                                                                             _\--The Magical Word_

**Boy-Who-Lived Scandal: What Did the Minister Know?**

                                                                             _\--Daily Prophet_

But the main headline on every magical newspaper in the world?

 

**Merlin Returns!  Are We Ready?**

Of course, Harry was blissfully unaware of all of this; he was more concerned with the trip back to London on the Knight Bus, and whether or not his friends would enjoy it as much as he would.  Bertie would be waiting in the Great Hall, ready to escort Harry and his friends into Hogsmeade, where they would complete their Christmas shopping before calling for the bus.  Their plans for the three-week holiday included attending the ballet (The Nutcracker, performed by the Royal Ballet in London), attending another musical (Hermione’s parents had talked Bertie into getting tickets to Peter Pan, also in London), and attending the Malfoy Yule Ball (which meant formal robes for everyone).  In between all of that, Harry was looking forward to spending time with Sirius as he furnished the London townhouse he had reclaimed, and Neville was going to Africa with Lady Augusta for a few days so he could spend time with his parents, who were being treated by a Parsel-Healer specializing in mental trauma caused by spell damage.  Hermione was going to be helping her parents put together photo-albums from all of the photos taken over the summer, separating the ‘magical’ photos from the regular ones, so that she could share her adventures with her school friends.

It was going to be an excellent holiday!


	18. Chapter Thirteen: Upheaval at the Ministry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter takes place in flashback.

**Chapter Thirteen:  Upheaval at the Ministry**

“So, _that_ happened!”  Sirius stated baldly into his whiskey tumbler.

Bertie, leaning heavily against the fireplace, snorted.  “So it did,” he agreed.

 

Sirius and Bertie, as well as Amelia Bones, Lucius Malfoy, Augusta Longbottom, and Lord Graham Mendleson, were hiding/resting in Bones’ office in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as it was the only place that was not filled with panicking Ministry employees—and they were all sipping extremely strong Firewhiskey.

Outside of the office, Merlin (Merlin!!!) was storming through the Ministry building like he owned it (and Sirius figured that he did, really), emptying every department and office for a thorough employee ‘review’ before instituting a complete restructure.  The only departments left mostly untouched were the DMLE and the Outreach Department, and the former only because it was just recently completely overhauled.  Even the Minister of Magic had been ousted from his office/sanctuary and was fearing for his job.

Sirius sighed and drank deeply from his tumbler, remembering the disastrous Wizengamot session that brought about so much drastic change.

(flashback)

**_\---Minister Fudge messily introduced several visitors from the ICWW and sat back into his ornate chair, and the ICWW members entered the Wizengamot Chamber and took seats at a ‘guest’ table in front of the High Box.  Sirius recognized Director Yuriko Fuyama and Special Investigator Gabriel Manzini by sight, along with Cadmus and Lady Nimue, but he only recognized Special Investigator Claudio Ibanza by his robes and the sigils on the front.  As soon as the ‘special guests’ were seated, Madam Amelia Bones stood and asked permission to speak, thus beginning the session._ **

**_“I would like to begin this session of Britain’s Wizengamot with a profound announcement,” stated Bones, and the reporters in the Press Box leaned forward and began to scribble furiously.  Normally, Sirius knew, there were only a few staff members from The Daily Prophet present in the Press Box: a Fashion and Style reporter, Sports and Games reporter, and a serious (more or less) general news reporter.  On this day, however, there were reporters from other, foreign, news sources, and Sirius figured it was because of the ICWW presence._ **

**_“It gives me great pleasure,” said Bones gravely, “to announce that, without any doubt or question, Lord Voldemort has been utterly destroyed and is in no way able to return to wreak havoc in Magical Britain ever again.”_ **

**_There was silence.  Then there were murmurs.  Then there were shouts._ **

**_Everyone began talking at once, and the noise level rose alarmingly.  So much that Minister Fudge shot off sparks from his wand to bring order back to the proceedings._ **

**_“(ahem)Madam Bones,” said Fudge, his voice quivering nervously, “as much as I am certain we all welcome that announcement, I must ask: are you positive?  I mean, there have been rumors….”_ **

**_“I am quite positive,” nodded Bones.  “I have a report here from the War Mages at Gringott’s—the ones who handled the case to the finish—and it will be made available to anyone who wishes to read it, but the results are definitely conclusive: Tom Riddle, also known as the Dark Lord Voldemort, is most positively gone from this world, never to return.”_ **

**_A red light appeared in the Lords section of the Chamber, and Lord Mendleson was granted permission to speak.  “As much as I would like to believe you, Madam Bones, how can you be certain of this?”_ **

**_Bones smirked slightly.  “I could attempt to answer you, Lord Mendleson, but I don’t completely understand it myself.  Therefore, I should like to present two of our esteemed guests to answer this question definitively.”  Bones looked to Minister Fudge for permission and it was granted, so Bones motioned for two of the visitors to stand and Sirius was amused to watch Manzini and Lady Nimue approach the podium on the floor._ **

**_Before either one could speak, however, more murmurs began to fill the air.  Again Fudge ‘sparked’ to maintain control, and again silence fell._ **

**_“If you could please introduce yourselves,” begged Fudge in a tone reserved for naughty toddlers, “and explain exactly how Lord Thingie was permanently dealt with?”_ **

**_The visitors shared a long look between them before Manzini took point and began to speak._ **

**_“I am Special Investigator Gabriel Manzini, of the International Confederations of Wizards and Witches Auror Corp, and I have been involved in the gathering of a series of Soul Fragments left by Tom Riddle in a vain attempt at immortality.  There were others, of course, that were instrumental in the gathering, and the Goblin Nation graciously volunteered to destroy the Fragments, ensuring that Riddle will never rise again.”_ **

**_\--red light to Mr. Greengrass: “How exactly were these Soul Fragments created, and how can we be certain you got them all?”_ **

**_Manzini raised one eyebrow.  “I will not go into any detail on the creation of such an abomination as a Soul Fragment, but a notation in an obscure book of Occult Rituals was found that detailed a Five-Point spell that would use five Fragments in correlation to the Five Natural Elements.  During the attack on the Potter family, Riddle accidentally created a sixth Fragment, and it was the discovery of that one that led to the search for and destruction of the other five.  We were given broad clues to their whereabouts by a follower of Riddle’s, who was convinced that we could raise his spirit back to full strength.  The fragments were collected over several months of hunting, and were taken to Gringott’s Bank to be destroyed.  War Mage Wrockton recorded the destruction and the screams from the Fragments, if any of you care to see the recordings.  He said the entire process was ‘most satisfactory’.”_ **

**_A collective shudder ran through the Wizengamot, but nobody asked to see the recordings._ **

**_\--red light to Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to Minister Fudge: “(hem-hem)While I am certain that we are all grateful for your—ahem—assistance in ridding the world of Lord Voldemort permanently, I think we here would all like to know why the ICWW was not interested in helping Britain during the height of the war.”_ **

**_The woman, who had not yet introduced herself, addressed the woman.  “Was that supposed to be a question, Miss Umbridge?”_ **

**_“You know that it was.”_ **

**_“No,” said the woman, “what I heard was a blanket statement, designed to make us feel defensive.  If you were asking a question, you would have phrased it as such.  However, I am a very understanding woman, and I understand that what you really want to know is ‘why hasn’t the ICWW solved all of your problems for you, only to fade into the background and leave you all alone when you do not want our interference.’  And that, therefore, is your answer: We never stepped into your Dark Lord problems in the past because they were your Dark Lord problems.  As long as British Dark Lords did not threaten the rest of the world, the ICWW was happy to let you all handle them.  If you wanted assistance, you need only to have asked.”_ **

**_\--red light to Lord Mendleson: “Madam, might I inquire as to your identity?”_ **

**_The woman smiled prettily at Mendleson and replied, “I am known as Lady Ni---no, I’m afraid I’ll have to keep that a secret for just a little while longer.  I do hope I have not offended.”_ **

**_Mendleson inclined his head in agreement and sat back in his box, and nobody raised their wands to ask again._ **

**_A long moment passed before Manzini and the woman left the podium to retake their seats at the guest table._ **

****

**_Sirius raised his wand to show a red light, and he was acknowledged by Fudge.  “Thank you, Minister.  I would like to know: now that Voldemort is definitely out of the picture for all time, is the Ministry going to do anything about the followers that were still free to roam about?”_ **

**_Two rows behind Sirius, Lucius Malfoy absently rubbed his left forearm through his robes._ **

**_Minister Cornelius Fudge, however, looked rather startled at the question and gave a flustered answer: “I don’t understand what you mean, Lord Black.  Surely all of the guilty Death Eaters are in Azkaban, under the watch of the Dementors, so we are all safe now.”_ **

**_“Actually, Minister,” interrupted Bones quickly, “that is not quite true.  Many Death Eaters were imprisoned, that is correct, but those have all…passed.  Many of the deaths occurred during the past three months, probably as a result of Voldemort’s final destruction.  And the Dementors are no longer at Azkaban.”_ **

**_Fudge’s face grew purple-red with fury.  “What?  Did they escape?  Can they be collected again?”_ **

**_“Minister! If I may?”  Manzini stood and addressed the total court.  “While I was at Azkaban retrieving Lord Black from his illegal incarceration, I noted the dangerous and unhealthy atmosphere of the prison and correlated it to the presence of the Dementors.  They were, for lack of a better term, hungry—and they were apt to attack anyone in their vicinity, including the hapless guards in charge of the less dangerous prisoners.  So I made an executive decision and dispatched several of them, and I made a request of the Order of Summerisle to have the rest destroyed at the earliest convenience.”_ **

**_\--red light to Mr. Thaddeus Nott: “And what is the order of Summerisle, exactly, that they can give that sort of permission?”_ **

**_Sirius smirked to himself and sent a subtle wink to Bertie when the other man turned toward him.  The show, as they say, was about to begin._ **

****

**_The small, yet formidable-looking, Japanese woman lit her wand and waited patiently to be acknowledged.  When she was, she stood—along with the first female guest and a much taller man—and walked to the podium to address the Wizengamot._ **

**_“My name,” she said with faintly accented English, “is Madam Yuriko Fuyama, and I am the current Director of the International Confederation of Wizards and Witches.”_ **

**_“What about Dumbledore?” shouted an anonymous voice, and a new uproar began, only to be quelled again by sparks from Minister Fudge._ **

**_Fuyama offered a mean grin in response.  “This ‘Dumbledore’ person is of no consequence to the ICWW at this moment.  Forty-odd years ago, he was a guest speaker to the ICWW, and he had much to say that we were interested in, but that time has passed.  You asked about the Order of Summerisle, and I shall answer, if you permit me.”_ **

**_“Yes, yes,” stammered Fudge quickly, “please answer the question, er, Director Fuyama.”_ **

**_Fuyama bowed at the waist in a sign of respect, but she did not bow deeply.  Fudge did not notice the slight.  “Thank you, Minister Fudge,” she said clearly before turning to address the Wizengamot directly.  “The Order of Summerisle is a collection of individual persons chosen specifically to serve the Source of All Magic.  It was the Order of Summerisle that created the Magical Enclaves and communities that kept our World separate from the mundane world so that the Magical people and creatures would be safe, and it was the Order of Summerisle that created the blueprints for Magical Governments so that the Magical people would not threaten the Natural World._ **

**_“And,” Fuyama said clearly and distinctly, “it was the Order of Summerisle that created the ICWW to police all Magical Governments around the world.  It disturbs me to know that while Magical Britain has many representatives in the Order of Summerisle, they have no proper representation in the ICWW.  That is most distressing to us.”_ **

**_“That is untrue!” exclaimed Fudge, clearly discomforted. “Magical Britain is represented in the ICWW, by Roane O’Brady.”_ **

**_Fuyama turned again to face Fudge.  “Actually, Minister Fudge, there has been a development involving your so-called representative.  You see, for the past three years, Mr. O’Brady has been petitioning the ICWW on behalf of Ireland, and the ICWW has conferred with the Mundane British Ministry, which as you know holds dominion over even this august body.  It has, after some great debate, been determined that while Ireland, Scotland, and Wales are all part of Great Britain and are ruled by the same Mundane worldly laws, Magical Ireland will be able to separate from Magical Britain and develop their own Magical Government.  The Irish Wizengamot shall meet for the first time after the New Year, with the extreme blessing of the Mundane British Prime Minister and the ICWW.  Informing you of this development was part of my visit here.”_ **

**_Fudge was purple-faced with fury and he was visibly vibrating in his seat, so it was left to Madam Amelia Bones to ask, “What are the other reasons for your visit to the British Wizengamot, Director Fuyama?”_ **

**_Sirius spared a glance at the Press Box, where the reporters were all writing at a furious pace; some even using several Quick-Quotes quills at once, so as to not miss anything.  He knew the Daily Prophet would most likely only print the issues pertinent to Britain—and in the most sensational manner possible—but the foreign news sources would get a much meatier story, so he made a note to himself to pick up several copies of those papers, and even to subscribe to them for more accurate news.  His godson, Harry, should have as many news sources available as possible in order to form his own informed opinions of current events._ **

**_Fuyama bowed again, this time to Bones—and with much more respect.  “As Magical Britain has no real representation within the ICWW, it has become apparent to us that none of the official decrees have made it to your government—or if they have, you have no intentions to follow the guidelines set by the ICWW.  We do not seek to take your autonomy away from you, nor are we eager to rule your government for you.  But the ICWW has continuously set guidelines as to how the Magical communities and enclaves should be governed, with sanctions against those who flout laws and freedoms that keep the people happy and productive._ **

**_“Magical Britain has, in the last five hundred years, managed to ignore all of the ICWW guidelines and isolate itself from the rest of the Magical World.  You do not allow innovations in magic to enter your small country.  You have outlawed many advantages that other countries use to make life easier for their Magical citizens.  You severely regulate any news or entertainment coming into Magical Britain from other countries and have only permitted sports competitions on an international level in regards to Quidditch and the World Cup, so most British citizens are unaware of any other competitive sports or activities.  And you have unlawfully sanctioned anyone that has fallen under dark curses or diseases and made it nearly impossible for them to live freely and productively within your society—and yet you tax them excessively and jail them when they cannot pay.  Simply put, this is all inexcusable!  It is also the reason that there is a constant rise of so-called Dark Lords in this country, whereas no other ICWW country has such a problem.”_ **

**_“Do you mean to say that there are no Dark wizards anywhere else in the world?” asked Thaddeus Nott incredulously._ **

**_“Of course not!” Fuyama sniffed.  “What I mean to say is that, while there are certainly Dark Wizards—and Witches—in other countries, they are easily sanctioned and defeated by the Auror Corps in those countries, and they have never attempted to amass followers in order to take over the governments.  The government in Magical Britain subjugates its citizens, forcing them to drastic measures!”_ **

**_“But…but…the ICWW has never offered assistance to Britain when we have those problems!” Fudge sputtered, spittle flying from his mouth._ **

**_Fuyama merely calmly raised one eyebrow at his outburst.  “I have been a representative to the ICWW for decades, Minister Fudge, and I have never heard a request for aid or assistance from Magical Britain.  In fact, there are more requests for autonomy than assistance or guidance, and that is why I am here today.”_ **

**_“I don’t understand,” said Fudge, deflating.  “Are you going to offer help now that Lord Thingie is gone and we don’t need you?”_ **

**_Fuyama’s eyes narrowed dangerously and Fudge shrank back in his seat._ **

**_“Minister Fudge, through the representatives to the Order of Summerisle, the ICWW has become aware of yet another rising Dark Lord coming up in Magical Britain, and this one is not merely interested in ruling Britain; he would like to rule the entire world, Magical and Mundane.  This makes him a potential risk to everyone, and if he manages to gather followers enough to leave this piteous island, the ICWW and the Order of Summerisle will take action against him.  Right now, his power is limited and may well be on the decline—if we can arrest him soon.  So you can possible see how much you do need the ICWW.”_ **

**_“So you are going to help us?” Fudge asked hopefully._ **

**_“Of course not,” Fuyama scoffed.  “We have not been invited to deliver aid in this instance.  I am here, instead, to offer to oust Magical Britain from the ICWW, since you all don’t seem to understand how much help we can give.”_ **

**_\--red light to Mr. Greengrass: “What exactly would removal from the ICWW mean for Magical Britain?”_ **

**_“That is an excellent question, Mr. Greengrass,” said Fuyama shrewdly.  “Firstly, it would mean that Magical Britain would have to become completely self-sustaining.  As this governing body has seen fit to make Magical Britain so insular, this should not be a problem.  Several anonymous polls have shown us that most citizens of Magical Britain are completely unaware of the Magical World outside of this country, and you all seem very happy to keep it that way.”_ **

**_“I’m not sure I like your tone, Director Fuyama,” said Fudge icily._ **

**_“And I am not sure I like your politics, Minister Fudge,” she replied equally icily.  “But if I must put up with you for the duration of this session, then surely you can put up with me.  Now, where was I?”_ **

**_“Self-sustenance, Director Fuyama,” murmured the tall man next to her, and she graced him with a wide smile._ **

**_“Yes, thank you Cadmus.  Magical Britain will have to become completely self-sustaining, which means that the ICWW will remove every advantage that we have placed in this Magical Community.”_ **

**_“(hem-hem)That does not seem to be so very bad, Madam Director,” said Dolores Umbridge with a smirk.  “Magical Britain is a very strong nation, and we certainly have not needed the help of the ICWW, which is why we have not asked for it in all those centuries.”_ **

**_“Do you think so, Madam Umbridge?” asked Fuyama quietly, and Sirius could hear the venom in her voice.  “When I said that the ICWW would remove every advantage that we allowed to exist here, I meant every advantage.”_ **

**_“Yes,” replied Umbridge confidently, “I heard you very well.”_ **

**_Sirius could see, however, that many members of the Wizengamot were shifting uneasily in their seats, as if they dreaded what was to come._ **

**_Fuyama nodded at the woman sternly and then turned to face the Wizengamot head-on._ **

**_“In case any of you are wondering (and how could you not), the premier Magical School of Britain, Hogwarts, was founded with permission of the very young ICWW, and is currently funded by the modern ICWW.  As such, the magical community of Hogsmeade is supported by Wilde Magic delivered by the ICWW and the Forbidden Forest is thriving on the same Wilde Magic.  When the ICWW pulls out of Magical Britain, we shall pull our support of that school and we shall relocate the magical beings and creatures out of the forest.  The British Ministry of Magic will, of course, be allowed to found and fund another Magical School, which you will fully regulate without our help.  This also goes for any other educational institution that the ICWW supports within Magical Britain._ **

**_“And of course I should mention that when Wilde Magic was new in this world, the Goblin Nation swore allegiance to the Order of Summerisle alone, promising to protect Magicals from the Mundane World and Mundanes from the Magical World.  When the ICWW pulls out, the Goblin Nation will pull out as well, and Gringott’s London will close permanently.  The Ministry of Magic will be given until the New Year to build, regulate, and maintain a new Magical Bank for its citizens to use, because the Goblin Nation works exclusively with the ICWW and the Order of Summerisle rather than individual governments.  All of your vaults will be emptied and your treasures will become yours to house and protect.”_ **

**_The low murmurs that began with the announcement about the schools rose greatly with the announcement about the bank, and soon the noise level inside the Wizengamot Chamber was again deafening.  Sirius smirked to himself as he settled back in his seat and watched as Cadmus raised an arm (but not a wand) and shot purple sparks into the air and silence fell._ **

**_“Thank you Cadmus,” said Fuyama once silence reigned again.  “Now, as I was saying, once the ICWW removes all of the advantages that they have allowed Wizarding Britain, all other ICWW countries will cease trade of any kind with Britain, else they might risk allowing ICWW-approved advances to once again enter this country.  British wizards and witches will not be allowed entrance to other countries for pleasure or business trips, else you might purchase items that the ICWW will no longer allow you to have.  Businesses will have to cease broad trade outside of Britain, but that should not be too much of a problem as many of the British businesses already are too insular for international trade.  The ICWW will allow any citizen who wishes to emigrate from Britain to do so.  As Ireland has now become a possibility, they would not have to move far, and Wales has also recently petitioned for Independent Status within the ICWW, so that is another option._ **

**_“The travel ban also includes apprenticeships and advanced education, so Magical Britain will have to foster their own Masters and universities.  Of course, you can always trade with non-ICWW countries such as Romania, Cuba, and China—if they choose to trade with you.”_ **

**_“But Durmstrang is an accredited Wizarding School that does very well outside of the ICWW!”  The outburst came from Mr. Douglas Abernathy, Secretary of Education.  Everyone turned their attention to him, so also did Fuyama._ **

**_“Yes, Durmstrang is an adequate school, as far as they go.  It is, however, located just inside the Romanian borders and is privately funded by the wealthy families that live in Romania.  Durmstrang receives no money from the ICWW nor any resources, so the level of education there is suspect.  They have produced no Masters in any field; of that I am certain.  Still, you can send your children there without sanction, if that is what you wish.  I am merely here to hear a vote: Will you begin to comply with ICWW regulations, or will the ICWW pull away from Magical Britain?  As Director, I have full authority to make the final decision.”_ **

**_Fudge leaned forward and asked, “Could we, perhaps, break for a while and think it over?  This is a huge decision for us, and I fear we were unprepared for it.”_ **

**_Fuyama nodded in agreement.  “Yes, that will be fine.  I shall depart to have a small snack, and this body will have time to discuss.”_ **

**_Without another word, Fuyama strode to the sealed doors of the Chamber and opened them, departing with her small party and leaving Fudge to deal with the fall-out._ **

****

**_And fall-out they did, with everyone speaking at once—willing themselves to be heard.  Sirius couldn’t make sense of half of it and his box was in the middle of the noisiest people, but he did note that the Press Box had not emptied—it had just grown very quiet as the reporters tried to hear what the final decision would be._ **

**_Finally Fudge sparked-off and silenced the room.  “Now, then, Director Fuyama mentioned that Britain actually had representatives in this Order of Summer-thing—so does anyone know who they are?”_ **

**_Bertie’s box lit bright gold, as did Sirius’ and Lord Maxwell Harcourt’s, and Fudge looked rather taken-aback.  For some unknown reason, Fudge chose Bertie to question about the whole thing, which Sirius thought was hilarious._ **

**_“Lord Porpington, you knew about this?”  Fudge actually sounded astonished._ **

**_“Of course I did,” Bertie pronounced.  “I’ve been serving the Order of Summerisle since my grandson reached his majority and could conceivably take over the Porpington concerns full-time.  I am also a member of a Voting Bloc in the ICWW, so I’ve been hearing about concerns over Britain for years.”_ **

**_“So you’re our ICWW representative now?”_ **

**_“Oh, no!” Bertie exclaimed, “I most certainly am not!  I have never been approached to be the official ICWW rep, and if I were asked now I would refuse.  The fact is, any Magical being has a right to be heard, either individually or within a specialized group, by the ICWW, and we can all decide on our own freedoms.  The fact that Britain has allowed those freedoms to disappear is a crying shame, Minister Fudge.  It may have happened long before your time in office, but you have done nothing to change things.”_ **

**_Fudge ran a shaking hand over his heated face.  “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the mutterings all around.  Just how serious is the threat we just heard?”_ **

**_Bertie sighed deeply.  “It’s serious enough that I have ready orders for my personal House Elves to prepare packing up the Porpington estates for a move to Ireland.  My entire family is prepared, including a woman I’ve recently adopted into my family Magically.  It is our sincere hope that it will not come to that, but a lot will have to change with the way the government is run to prevent it.”_ **

**_“I see,” sighed Fudge.  “What do you recommend—unofficially, of course.”_ **

**_“Well,” said Bertie after a moment, “for one thing, I suggest that you find a real representative or two to carry concerns to the ICWW—and to report back to the Wizengamot any decrees that may have consequences to us.”_ **

**_“Anything else?” asked Fudge._ **

**_“Yes—I suggest you actually listen to the next guest speaker, because he may completely negate the ultimatum by the ICWW.”_ **

**_Fudge seemed relieved at that news, but Sirius heard the tone of Bertie’s declaration—and he almost feared for the state of Magical Britain._ **

****

**_@@@_ **

****

**_After a very short recess, during which the Wizengamot members converged onto the Ministry commissary, everyone again took their seats and Director Fuyama was looking expectantly at Minister Fudge._ **

**_“Madam Director,” he stammered, “I thank you for the opportunity to discuss our options within the Wizengamot.  At this moment, Magical Britain is not prepared to part with the ICWW, and we are ready to begin total compliance with that body.  And, of course, with this Order of Summerisle.”_ **

**_He was simpering and pandering, and Fuyama knew it._ **

**_“That is all very well, Minister Fudge, but the proof shall be in the putting.  I do look forward to seeing your official representative in ICWW sessions in the future.  Who shall it be?”_ **

**_“Er…We’re still working on that one.”_ **

**_\--red light to Mr. Thaddeus Nott: “I would just like to know, officially and plainly, what is this Summerisle that you all keep mentioning!”_ **

****

**_There were whispers of agreement, but the noise level stayed quiet.  Every member in the Press Box sat forward as the tall, bearded man—the only one not to speak so far—stood from the Guest Table and approached the podium.  His voice was deep and rich and smooth, and reminded Sirius of whiskey-flavoured chocolate, and it was thickly accented with what sounded like a mixture of Irish lilt and Scottish brogue—until Sirius realized that it must be really, really Olde Englysh._ **

**_“Summerisle” said the man, “is the Source of All Magic; the birthplace of the First Magicals and the origin of creatures such as unicorns and alicorns and Rocs.  It has been known popularly as Summerisle and Atlantis and Avalon, and it is where All Magic shall return at the end of time.”_ **

**_“I see,” huffed Nott suspiciously.  “And who, exactly, are you?”_ **

**_The tall, bearded man turned his head to face Nott directly, eyes burning like dampened coals.  “I,” he said clearly and coldly, “am he who has gifted Magic to the world at the beginning of our history.  I am he who has delivered Magic from the Blackest of Dark Wizards and returned the Balance to the world!  I am Merlin Emrys, the First Magical to walk the earth!”_ **

****

**_Again there was a huge general uproar, and nobody seemed in any hurry to shut it down.  There was a scramble from the Press Box as each reporter present began to climb over each other in an attempt to be the first out the Chamber doors in order to get their stories to print.  Even the reporters from the foreign press seemed eager to reach the Floos in the Ministry atrium, and in only a few moments the entire Press Box was empty._ **

**_Once the reporters were all gone, Merlin raised his arms high in the air and released a burst of palpable energy, closing and sealing the Chamber doors with a white-bright fire so that no seams were visible.  He then turned toward the center of the Chamber and shouted “Tum Perturbatio!”, and a golden glow filled Chamber, appearing to everyone like a greasy fog.  The air stilled and began to taste stale, and Sirius realized that Merlin must have erected a Temporal Field within the Chamber._ **

**_Merlin turned to face the members of the Wizengamot, leaving the Minister gaping behind him, and when he spoke his voice was grave and raspy with anger._ **

**_“Word of my emergence will be spread far and wide before we leave this Chamber.  Before any of you have a chance to confirm anything that you may have witnessed, I will again state the LAW that I declared before releasing Wilde Magic unto the world, to spread amongst the people and tribes that inhabited it.  You will comply with my Law, or Magic will cease to be in this part of Great Britain and I shall move the seat of my Power to Ireland!_ **

**_“My Rules were simple:_ **

_**Keep the Magic Pure** _

_**Do not corrupt the Magic with Greed** _

_**Do not corrupt the Magic with Contempt** _

_**Do not abuse the Magic in order to dominate those weaker than you** _

_**Use the Magic to feed Our World** _

_**Use the Magic to protect our Children** _

__

_**And yet, for the last five hundred years, the ruling Government of Magical Britain has been abusing those Rules—or outright ignoring them.  Wizards and Witches who respect the Rules had fled Magical Britain, seeking to spread My Rules to every place under the sun, and yet MY chosen adepts have become a disgrace!** _

_**“It seems that my only recourse is to reinforce My Rule or to take Magic completely from these shores.”** _

__

_**Thaddeus Nott scoffed, declaring loudly: “I don’t know who you really are, but there is not any way that we will believe that you are the great Merlin!”** _

__

_**Merlin’s eyes began to glow with grey fire, like light softly filtered through winter clouds, and he gestured angrily at Nott and a wave of pure white magic flowed from his fingertip.** _

_**Nott was silenced and he began to rise from his seat as if levitating.** _

_**“Do NOT use Magic to subjugate others!” shouted Merlin.  “And here you sit, ready to rule over Magical Britain; dozens of men and women who have not only used your money and social standing to subjugate the less-fortunate, but who have offered yourselves like sheep to a madman who would willingly destroy you all on a whim!”** _

_**With a small flash of grey light, Nott’s left sleeve separated from his robes, revealing a faded Dark Mark.  Moments later, the same thing happened all around the Chamber, baring for all to see the Dark Marks on the arms of many who sat in the Lords section—and several who sat in the Ministry section, including Minister Fudge’s Senior Undersecretary, Dolores Umbridge.** _

__

_**“You have tortured and killed and stomped over those you see as ‘less’ than you—those who have no magic at all, and you have allowed yourselves to become branded like mindless sheep, eager to follow your Dark shepherd into the depths of Black Magic.  If you shall behave like mindless sheep,” declared Merlin coldly, “then so shall you be sheep!”** _

__

_**And so they were!  Each and every marked Death-Eater (and there was a surprising number of them that Sirius was certain had never been suspected much less put on trial) began to transform: their arms grew thin and dark, with hooves instead of fingers, and their faces grew rounder and began to elongate as noses turned to muzzles.  And…wool…began to sprout all over their heads and arms—and supposedly under their clothes if the growing bulkiness was anything to go by.  Where before the Wizengamot was populated by people, there were now twenty-plus human/sheep hybrids wearing robes and scrambling for wands they could not physically hold.** _

__

_**Behind him, Sirius could hear Lucius Malfoy suck in a shocked breath, and Sirius turned in time to see the blond grip tight his left arm, as if making certain it was still there.  Sirius caught his eye and inclined his head slightly in a motion of silent support and Malfoy relaxed slightly.  Sirius turned back to face Merlin.** _

__

_**“Do NOT corrupt the Magic with GREED!” shouted Merlin, “and here you all are, lining your pockets with silver while there are citizens who cannot feed their children!  Do NOT corrupt the Magic with CONTEMPT!  And here you all sit, judging yourselves better than those with no magic at all—tossing them out of your families or killing them when they fail to live up to your standards!”** _

__

_**The ‘sheeple’ in the Chamber began bleating in distress, too shocked to form words, and Sirius had to fight not to laugh.** _

_**“But…but…Lucius Malfoy!” shouted Nott finally, and apparently becoming a sheep had not hindered his ability to speak after all.  “Malfoy was tried as a Death Eater!  Why has he not been targeted?”** _

__

_**Shakily, Malfoy stood up in his box and rolled back his left sleeve in the same manner he had done earlier in front of Sirius, and he grandly displayed his unmarked arm for everyone in the Wizengamot to see.  “I had told you all, ten years ago, that the Mark was forced upon me by my fanatic father, and that I did not want it!  I have worked hard during the last ten years to rebuild my personal reputation, and I have sworn to serve Magic to the best of my ability.”** _

_**Merlin stared at Malfoy quietly and Malfoy met his gaze without a tremble or twitch.  Finally Merlin offered a minute nod, and Malfoy sat again, rolling down his sleeve with shaking hands.** _

__

_**Merlin’s gaze rolled over the Wizengamot and humans and ‘sheeple’ shrank back against the coldness of the gaze.** _

__

_**“Use the Magic to feed our world!” Merlin exclaimed.  “It’s all very simple, but I know from reaching out that many of your estates cannot grow even a simple weed without fertility potions.  The land that you have claimed is dead, and the decay is spreading.  Use the Magic to Protect the Children!  And yet the ruling fathers of this government allowed their children to be brainwashed and tortured and killed in their search for ultimate power and purity.** _

_**“KEEP THE MAGIC PURE!!!!  This does not mean for you to inbreed so much that your bloodlines die completely!  This means to NOT.  CORRUPT.  The MAGIC!  You all—every one of you that has set laws against those you would walk upon—have failed me!  There are so few of you that are trying to keep to the message of my Law that I could strip the Magic completely from Britain and not a ripple would affect the rest of the world!”** _

__

_**“Please!” whined Fudge as the rest of the Wizengamot sat in stunned silence.  “Please tell us how we can gain your favour again!”** _

__

_**Merlin spun so quickly to face the Minister that Fudge stumbled and almost fell to his knees inside the High Box.  “You?  Want to know how to curry my favour again?  You ignored the possibility of corruption within your own government, and you blindly follow someone who would take power from this country and burn the world in his wake!  How can you gain favour with me again?  You can give over your pitiful power to one who knows better how to use it!  You can stop trying to regulate the people you are bound to serve!  You can allow your people to learn how to live in the modern world that is happening everywhere around you!”** _

__

_**As Merlin spoke, he began to transform:  his beard began to shorten from waist-length to mere stubble, his hair shortened to a close cut (but remained steel-grey and black in color), his eyes brightened from a dull grey to a blazing royal blue, and his face—once gaunt and wrinkled with age—began to un-line and fill out.  Once aged and timeless, now Merlin appeared before them as a forty-something-year-old, full of life and vigor.** _

__

_**“You want me to step down?” asked Fudge, completely oblivious.  “But I’m an elected official!  The people wanted me!”** _

__

_**“How many of those people,” asked Merlin coldly, “used their money to gain you that office—and use their money now to make sure laws they want are passed, whether or not they are healthy for the majority of the population?  You are a mouthpiece for the wealthy and corrupt, Minister Fudge, and you have no idea what this country needs.”** _

__

_**“But who really does?” asked Amelia Bones absently, barely aware that she had spoken out loud.  But everyone heard her—especially Merlin.** _

__

_**“You do, Madam Bones!”  Merlin said calmly.  “You are more in tune with the needs of the British people than almost anyone inside this Chamber.  Your integrity has allowed you to fairly enforce the laws, even when the Minister would stand in your way.  I expect that, were a true Dark Lord to rise to power, you would be a main target for assassination, because it is in your very blood to protect the people you serve.”** _

__

_**Bones paled in her seat.  “But…but, how?  How could I…?”** _

__

_**“You will know,” said Merlin simply.  “You will know.  Now—I have one more duty to fulfill here, and then I shall move on.”** _

__

_**Merlin again turned to face the Wizengamot, but he tipped his face to the ceiling and raised his arms, ready to call Power.  “This poor excuse of a ruling body has allowed the children of Britain to suffer the most of all.  They have kept all wondrous innovation away from the schools, forcing the Magical children to stay in the dark while their peers in other countries flourish.  Even the Mundane children are more prepared to deal with a modern world rife with Magic than the children in Magical Britain.** _

_**“Come to me, my Children!  Come and prepare to TAKE.  BACK.  YOUR.  SCHOOL!!!!”** _

__

_**There was a rush of air, like a sudden windstorm, and a flash of black/red light, and four shades—ghosts, really—materialized behind the podium Merlin was standing in front of…and then began to grow corporeal.** _

_**And the corporeal ghosts began to de-age, much like Merlin himself, and they faded from grey spirits to very colorful Magical humans.  Their ancient clothing transformed from the antique robes into modern Mundane clothing: work shirts and jeans for the men and colorful tunics and long skirts for the women.** _

__

_**At once, Sirius recognized them from their likenesses in portraits all along the halls in Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, and Helga Hufflepuff, in the flesh for the first time in one thousand years.** _

__

_**Again, the noise level began to rise, and Sirius’ muddled thoughts were drowned out.---** _

_(end flashback)_

_Sirius drained his tumbler when he heard Amelia Bones sigh deeply._

_“How did I get dragged into this mess again?” she asked nobody._

_Somebody answered anyway.  “Madam Bones, you are simply the most ethical person in any position of power in the Ministry right now, and it has been noticed.”_

_Bones looked up from her slouch and offered a wry grin.  “Thank you, Lady Longbottom.”  She sighed again and sat straighter in her chair.  “Seriously, though: am I really expected to drop everything and take over Fudge’s job?  I have investigations to begin!  And what would I tell my niece?”_

_Bertie cleared his throat.  “Lady Augusta is correct, Madam Bones: you simply are the natural choice to become emergency Minister.  You have a reputation for being fair and willing to work with people.  The ICWW is going to be leveling a lot of charges on the British Ministry, and they’ll expect to be heard and obeyed.  You’re the one most likely to do that with no complaint.”_

_“Oh, I have complaints, all right!  There’s a new Dark Lord on the rise, and nobody knew it!  How did we miss it?  Who is it?”  Bones leveled a glare at Bertie and Sirius.  “You two know who it is, don’t you?”_

_Sirius’ eyebrows raised in surprise before he snorted and then chuckled.  “I wouldn’t worry about it, Amelia.  I expect that the ICWW will have him dealt with before the kiddies go back to school in the New Year, and nobody will be the wiser.”  He stood away from the uncomfortable leather chair he had been occupying and set the tumbler on the edge of Bones’ desk.  “If you’ll all excuse me, I’m expecting a furniture delivery this evening, and I will have to Floo-call my decorator.  I’d at least like to have a drawing room put together before Harry comes home for break, even if we are still living with Bertie.”_

_Lucius raised his head to catch Sirius’ eye.  “Will we be seeing you at the Yule Ball?”_

_“Yes, you will.  I’ll be taking Harry shopping for dress robes when he gets home.  According to his letters home, he’s quite looking forward to it, from a networking point of view.  I expect I’ll have to get him some dance lessons before then.”_

_Lucius nodded absently.  “Give Cissy a call, then.  She’ll adore having another pupil for dance lessons.”_

_“I will, then,” said Sirius before opening the office door and darting out into hall on his way to the Atrium._

_On the way, he passed quite a few discombobulated ‘sheeple’ and chuckled darkly._

_That was another result of the Wizengamot Session: only those inside the Chamber were able to ‘see clearly’ the sheep-hybrids that were now wandering the halls of the Ministry, suddenly confused about their unemployment and displacement.  There were a few from each department in the Ministry, and most of them had not been inside the Chamber when the transformation took place, so they were understandably surprised by the change.  And confused._

_It appeared that, while many marked-but-declared-innocent Death Eaters were transformed into ‘sheeple’, quite a few had not—in fact, the ones that most vehemently denied being Dark and tried the hardest to redeem themselves after being acquitted in trial were untouched by Merlin’s magic.  To those ‘in the know’, it became clearly apparent that the ones who were transformed were very clearly guilty of breaking Merlin’s Law and turning Dark, despite the claims to the contrary._

_Magic, as it turned out, did not lie._

_Sirius was almost anxious to see what Severus Snape looked like now._


	19. Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath Aplenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mess with a bunch of ages here, so be prepared to drop canon again.
> 
> Also, sincere Molly Weasley Bashing ahead, because she deserves it.

**Chapter Fourteen: Aftermath Aplenty**

_November 20, 1991_

“You want me to _WHAT_?”  Wilburforce Qwelling, Editor-In-Chief of the Daily Prophet, was aghast; there was no other word for it. 

In the Floo, Lord Graham Mendleson pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, wincing at the tone.  “I am asking you to drop the Wizengamot stories from tomorrow’s Daily Prophet, at least for a little while.”

“And why, exactly, would I do that?  This news is HUGE, and I can’t keep it in the bag indefinitely.”

Mendleson refrained from showing his distaste for the newspaperman, but only barely.

“You would do that, Mr. Qwelling, because the Daily Prophet would become the only Wizarding newspaper in the world that had only half of the story.  Do you really want that, Mr. Qwelling?”

In his office, Qwelling frowned into the Floo.  “What does that matter, Lord Mendleson? The Daily Prophet is the only Wizarding newspaper in Britain, and therefore the only news source.  Our readers will accept any story we give them, complete or not.”

Mendleson huffed in annoyance.  “That is no longer so, Mr. Qwelling.  As I was in attendance during that Wizengamot session today, I know for a fact that several foreign news sources were represented.  I also know that, as of tomorrow, those foreign news sources will be permitted to sell papers in Britain—as well as to broadcast on the Wizarding Wireless—and they will all have the _complete_ story, as they have agreed to hold the story until all facts can be made ready.  Do you really want the premier newspaper in Wizarding Britain to be the only news source to _not_ have the complete story?”

“If that is the case, Lord Mendleson,” said Qwelling with affected smugness, “then the Prophet will print the story again, and our readership will grow with the addition of foreign readers.”

“It will not, Mr. Qwelling,” growled Mendleson.  “It will not grow, because you will not have the new information if you go to print today.  If you do not hold the story now, you will not have access to the extended story later.  There will be no deals.  There will be no bargains.  Neither the Wizengamot nor the Ministry will give interviews or press releases about this session to any reporter from The Daily Prophet if you do not comply with this request now.  And trust me, Mr. Qwelling, this story is well worth printing.”

Qwelling mulled this information for a long moment before asking, “ How long will I have to hold the story?”

Mendleson held back his smirk as he answered, “Only until December thirteenth of this year.  That is only three weeks, Mr. Qwelling; certainly you have enough ‘news’ to cover that time?”

“What is so special about December thirteenth, Lord Mendleson?”

“That is the day before the students from Hogwarts will board the Hogwarts Express to leave the school for their winter break.”

 

 

_November 21, 1991_

A mass-mailing was sent from the Ministry of Magic, to Hogwarts and to the homes of all Hogwarts students, instructing that all students must vacate Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the winter break.  If any student could not return to their home for any reason—or if they did not, in fact, have a home—they were instructed to inform their Head of House and provisions would be made.

Another mass-mailing was sent to the teachers and staff of Hogwarts, informing them that if any students were dispossessed for the winter break, the teachers should ‘Report them to the following Ministry Personnel’, and arrangements would be made to house them temporarily during the break.

After classes on November twenty-second, each Head of House went through their dormitories, working through the year groups one by one, making certain that all Hogwarts students had a place to go for the holidays.  By the end of the weekend, only three Hufflepuff students and two Ravenclaws had to be placed for the holiday.

By the middle of the next week, half of the lower-year Slytherins had to be placed.

Professor McGonagall was of the opinion that more Slytherins would have needed to be placed, but the students who had reached age sixteen and seventeen were crafty enough to find their own places—and were loyal enough to lie and take in other Fifth- and Sixth-year students without informing the teaching staff.  The fact was, the lower-year Slytherins had no real status in the House, and so had not established networking contacts.  They relied mainly on their parents’ contacts in the real world, and a lot of those parents were Pro-Purist sympathizers who lost a potential leader when Voldemort was vanquished.  The upper-year students were smart enough to distance themselves from that mess right away.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

At breakfast one day in the last week of November, Harry was enjoying his meal when a strange mail-owl landed in front of him and offered a letter.  As he reached for it, he noticed Fred and George Weasley frowning at him from across the table.

“What’s wrong, guys?” Harry asked as he took the letter.

George nodded at the owl.  “That’s Holly, the owl Dad bought when we retired our ancient Errol.”

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, and he looked at the letter.  “It’s addressed to me, though.  Did either one of you write me a letter?”

“Why in Merlin’s name would we do that?” Fred asked incredulously.

Harry shrugged as he opened the letter.  “I dunno, but stranger things have happened.”  Harry read the letter quietly, growing angrier with each word.  By the time he had finished, Hermione and Neville had joined them, and Harry was furious.

“What’s that say that has you so upset?” asked Neville.

Harry read aloud:

_“Dear Harry,_

_It has come to my attention that you have no real family to go home to, so as you are a good friend to my son, Ronald, I would like to invite you to spend the winter break with us at the Burrow._

_There is plenty of room, and we’ll be happy to make you feel welcome and like one of the family._

_Sincerely, Molly Weasley”_

 

Fred and George sat back in amazement.  “She can’t be serious!” exclaimed Fred.

 

Hermione frowned around her water glass and she took the letter from Harry’s hand and began to read it.  “It is rather presumptuous,” she said after a moment, “but why are you so angry?”

Harry took a calming breath and waved over a passing professor.  “Professor Flitwick, if a young wizard had never before been introduced to an adult, and was basically a stranger, how might that young wizard be addressed by the adult?  Formally, I mean.”

“Well,” said Flitwick thoughtfully, “the proper from of address for an unknown young wizard would be ‘Young Master’ or ‘Mister’ before the surname.”

“I see,” said Harry carefully.  “And if the young wizard in question was the heir to an Honorable Ancient and Noble House?”

“Then the really proper form of address is ‘Young Master’ unless the young wizard has fully claimed the Lordship.”

Harry nodded.  “Thank you, professor.”

Hermione hummed and then said, “So Mrs. Weasley was being incredibly forward and too familiar.”

“Yes,” said Harry, “and she was also assuming much about my private life, of which I do not approve.”

“Yeah,” said Fred, “that was a bit much, even for Mum.”

The owl began to fidget on the table, clearly waiting for a reply, so Harry took a fountain pen from his bag and began to write on the bottom of the original letter.

“ _Mrs. Weasley—_

_I shall be declining your offer, as I have a full schedule for Winter Break._

_Master H. J. Potter_

_House of Potter_

_House of Black_

_House of Peverelle”_

He then offered the letter back to the owl, who gave a small hoot and quickly flew away.

George looked at him with a bit of admiration in his eyes.  “That was very succinct, Harry.”

Harry offered a small smile, but sent a sideways look to Hermione, who nodded in return.

When breakfast was finished, Harry gathered his class supplies and headed for the corridor outside the Great Hall.  In the doorway, he waited for his friends before heading for their Potions classroom.  Outside the room, Harry whispered ‘ _Marshmallows_ ’ to the tapestry, and the woven Circe pulled the tapestry back to reveal the door.  It was a piece of magic that never got old, in Harry’s opinion, but this time there was a gasp behind them.

Startled, Harry, Hermione, and Neville spun around—to see Fred and George Weasley and Lee Jordan standing in the hall, jaws dropped in astonishment.

“What?” Hermione demanded harshly, immediately on the offensive.

Lee’s eyes were wide with amusement as he said, “I’ve never seen magic like that!”

Hermione calmed enough to preen a bit, but Harry and Neville were still on guard—because Fred and George both had looks of fear and apprehension on their faces.

“That…that was _not_ English,” George stammered.

“No,” said Harry, already preparing for the coming argument, “it was not.”

“What language was it?” asked Fred.

“Why do you need to know?” asked Harry.  “I’ll answer you, if I think your reason is valid enough.”

Fred and George turned to each other and appeared to have a silent conversation punctuated by wildly moving eyebrows before turning back to Harry.

“We’ll be happy to wait for that answer until after winter break.”

Harry nodded abruptly.  “That’s fine.  What did you want?”

“We, uh, we know you’re not really friends with Ron,” said George, “but _we_ consider you to be friends, and we’d like to invite you all to hang-out with us a bit during break.  If you don’t want to come to the Burrow—which we totally understand—then maybe we could meet you all somewhere else?”

Harry nodded, relieved.  “Well, as I mentioned, I will be really busy during break.  But I’ll send an owl when I get home, okay, and maybe we can get together before Christmas or just before New Years?  We really have a lot of plans, though, so it might only be for a day, if that’s all right?”

Fred nodded vigorously.  “Yeah, that’s fine.  We’ll probably need a break from the family for a bit anyway.”

 

Behind them, Lady Circe opened the door to the classroom and peeked out.  “What is the hold-up, people?  We have class to be done with!”

“Sorry, Professor,” said George apologetically.  “We were trying to set up some holiday plans before class.”

Circe smirked at the ginger boy.  “Well, now you’re going to be late for your own class.  You have Defense this morning, right?”

Lee Jordan’s eyes grew large in shock.  “Oh my!  We have to go, guys.  We have a quiz this morning!”

Harry watched with amusement as the trio scampered off to their own class before entering the hidden room behind the magical tapestry.

 

          @@

Later, after the morning classes were over, Hermione pulled Harry aside while they were walking to lunch and asked, “Are you going to tell me the real reason you were so upset by that letter this morning?”

Harry took a breath, willing the rising ire away, and said, “Yeah, I will.  Just—let’s take a walk after dinner, okay?  We can be late for study group for once; it’s not like our grades are slipping.”

The rest of the day passed as usual, with Harry being more quiet than usual between classes and Neville and Hermione shooting worried glances his way when he wasn’t looking.  By the time dinner was finished, Harry was practically vibrating in agitation, and Hermione and Neville followed him to their Potions/History classroom nervously, both wondering what was about to be revealed.

After whispering the password and looking around to make certain they weren’t followed, Harry led the way into the room—and the Floo-connected fireplace in the back of the room.

“I already asked Lady Circe for some privacy,” said Harry as he tossed Floo Powder into the hearth and connected with Bertie.

“Harry, my boy,” said Bertie with surprise, “it’s good to hear from you!  Why are you calling?  Is something wrong?”

“No, Bertie,” said Harry.  “I just need your permission to talk to Hermione and Neville about that contract thing.  I just…something unexpected happened, and they’re worried about my reaction.  I need to tell someone.”

Bertie frowned, the green glow of the Floo distorting his face almost comically.  “I know they can be trusted, Harry, so if you need to tell them, I think it will be fine.  Should I come there so I can help you explain?”

Harry shook his head.  “No, I don’t think so.  You’ll be here in a few weeks anyway, so I think I can handle this on my own for now.  I just—I need their support right now, and I need to tell them why.”

“Very well, Harry, go ahead and tell them.  Floo or write again if you need me or Sirius to come to you.”

Harry thanked him and disconnected the Floo before turning to his friends.  He walked to the front of the classroom and hopped onto the teacher’s desk, kicking his feet against the wooden front.  Hermione and Neville hopped onto the desk directly in front of him and sat patiently, waiting for him to collect himself.

 

“Okay,” said Harry, leaning forward onto his knees, “so, you both know how I found out about Magic in the worst way possible, right?  And how little I knew about my family and this world?”

Hermione and Neville nodded silently, trying not to break Harry’s train of thought.

“Well, while I was with the Goblins and was getting to know Bertie and Sirius, I was made aware of just how abused I really was—and not just by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon.  There were horrible blocks placed on me to keep me magically weak, and I was basically hidden away from the Magical world so that I could never be rescued.  I had to rescue myself—how messed up was that?

“Anyway—while Bertie and Sirius were going through my parents’ wills and the family vaults to try and find out how bad it was for me, they discovered a marriage contract with my name on it.”

Hermione almost burst into motion with anger, but Harry held up a hand and calmed her.  “Don’t get mad yet, Hermione.  It gets much worse, and I don’t want you to waste your indignation.  This contract, which was written when I was only three years old, would have had me officially betrothed by age fifteen and married by age eighteen, and that’s not the worst of it.  There were ‘conditions’ to the betrothal, and they included me giving most of my familial wealth to my future wife’s family, for ‘my own good and protection’, and giving away my family homes to my in-laws, and during the marriage ceremony I was to bind my magical core so that my spouse would hold my personal magic as her property.  Once I died—and it really looked like they were setting me up to die for a lost cause—all of my money and power would go to the in-laws, and there would be nothing left of me.  I was supposed to impregnate my spouse right away, with the help of fertility potions, but the Potter name would die out permanently and any children would take the name Prewett—for my spouse’s family.”

By this time, even placid Neville was red-faced with anger and there was practically steam pouring from his ears.

“So,” continued Harry as calmly as he could manage, “the contract was null because it had to be signed by my parent or magical guardian, and my parents are dead and my magical guardian is Bertie, so they could not have drawn it up.  And my ‘betrothed’s’ Head of Family was to have signed it as well—and that signature was forged.  So the contract was burned by the Goblins, and it’s no longer a threat to me, but it’s still a sore point for me.”

“How did you know it was null, though?” asked Hermione, concerned.  “I mean, this family isn’t going to try and enforce it, are they?”

Harry shrugged.  “Well, Bertie performed the ritual to become my Magical Guardian, and if there was another one it wouldn’t have worked, so the person that made the contract lied about that, which was enough to make the contract null all by itself.  But the real kicker was the signature of my future bride’s Head of Family: it was also forged.  A curse-breaker tossed a reveal spell at it, and it showed the real signature of the person that tried to usurp the power of Head of Family.  If that signature had been real, that family could have tried to enforce the contract, but now there is no way.”

“Okay,” said Neville, “I can see how that whole thing would have made you angry.  But what set you off this morning.”

Harry took a deep breath and made eye contact with both of his closest friends.  “The family that I was supposed to be contracted with was the Weasley family.  My future bride was supposed to be Fred and George’s little sister, Ginevra.  It was their mother, Molly Elspeth Prewett-Weasley, that forged Mr. Weasley’s signature on the contract.  It’s bad enough that that happened and I have to look at Weasleys all day, but the person that lied about being my Magical Guardian was none other than the great Albus Dumbledore himself.”

Hermione frowned.  “But wouldn’t that mean that Professor Dumbledore tried to defraud Gringott’s Bank in some way?  I mean, the penalties for that are supposed to be enormously bad!”

Harry nodded.  “Yeah, they are.  And why do you suppose we haven’t seen much of our illustrious Headmaster since term began?  He barely makes it to meals since the opening feast, and he wasn’t looking too sharp back then.”

“No,” said Hermione hesitantly, “I suppose not.  I mean, I really wasn’t paying attention to him during the opening feast beyond listening to the announcements, but I expected to see him more often during the year.  He wasn’t even present for the Halloween Feast, and _everyone_ was there.”

“Right,” said Harry as he hopped off the desk, “well, I just wanted you all to know why I was so angry and why I have no patience with Ron Weasley.  Heck, I wouldn’t even put up with the twins except for the fact that they helped Hermione learn how much fun flying was.”

“Are you going to tell the twins about this, Harry?” asked Neville as they headed for the door.

“No, I’m not.  It’s not really any of their business, so unless there are family repercussions they won’t know about it.  I have a tentative friendship with them, so they won’t hear anything from me.  If they find out through their family and they ask me about it, I’ll deal with it then.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

_December 2, 1991_

At eight o’clock in the morning, Sirius Black sat in his Family Box in a severely depleted Wizengamot Chamber and fiddled with a black fountain pen as he prepared to take copious notes.  All around him were empty boxes and seats, and he felt mildly disgusted by that fact.  Not disgusted by the emptiness, but rather by the reason why.

It wasn’t really the discovery of so many marked (but not convicted) Death Eaters that had emptied the Chamber.  It wasn’t even the presence of so many blatant Blood Purists that did it. (They might not have been marked, but they weren’t exactly poster-children for equality.)

No, the Chamber was emptied by an incredibly peeved Merlin, who was determined that the ruling government of his adopted country would not be driven by Darkness, and who now prowled along the edges of the Chamber like a caged tiger preparing to strike.  He was quiet as he waited for everyone to gather, but the ‘everyone’ was almost scarce as Merlin had effectively gutted the Ministry, tossing out those he felt were not holding up his personal ideal of a Magical Government.  The Ministry had been cleansed, so now it was the Wizengamot’s turn.

Over the past weekend, members of various Ancient and Noble Houses, Noble Houses, and Honorable Houses were sent engraved invitations to meet in the Wizengamot Chamber in the Ministry of Magic, and everyone who had received one was anxious to see what was going to happen.  The invitations gave explicit instructions as to where each person was to sit—which box or table and which particular seat to take, and each invitation was color-coded: pale blue for Ancient and Noble, dark grey for Noble, and saffron for Honorable.  Sirius compared his invitation with those of Bertie and Lucius Malfoy, and discovered that they were also numbered—but not sequentially by any pattern that Sirius could discern.  Only once he had actually entered the Wizengamot Chamber could Sirius see the ‘logic’ in the numbering system: the lower numbers (1-12) were the older, more established families that had already belonged to the Wizengamot but were not removed.  There were not many of them that Sirius could see, as the boxes around him were mostly empty.

After the first invited noble-men entered the Chamber and took their assigned seats, there was a long lull in activity, during which time Sirius glanced around and observed which families were represented:

Black (of course)

Porpington

Malfoy

Greengrass

Aldermaston

Clarardon

DeMontmorency

Partington

Prewett

Zabini

Mendleson

Boorman

It was a very interesting list.  Aside from the purely Light families of Porpington, Mendleson, and Partington, everyone represented was Grey of varying degrees.  Some were Light Grey—but not quite Pure Light (Prewett, Clarardon, Boorman), and others were quite Dark Grey—but not so dark as to be DARK (Black, Aldermaston, Malfoy), and the rest fell somewhere in between.  Clearly Merlin wasn’t going to force a governing majority of Pure Light families.

At eight-thirty the doors opened again, and more people carrying colored invitations entered the Chamber and filled in a few more boxes.  Sirius recognized a few more people:

Diggory, Bainbridge, and Alexander from various Ministry departments.

Formby, Abercrombie, and Bones were all old friends of Charlus Potter (the 'Bones' was Edgar, Amelia's brother).

Entwhistle, Halkirk, and Goshawk were people that Bertie knew fairly well.

Nicholas Sarxby and Cabal Flourish owned Flourish and Blotts.

Annabeth Tintwistle owned a stationery shop in Hogsmeade.

Barrow Perks supplied fleece and wool to several clothiers in Wizarding Britain. (Sirius' grandfather invested in the Perks' farm.)

Most of those people had never set foot within the Wizengamot Chamber, but Sirius knew some on sight just from his work as an Auror.

At nine o’clock the doors opened once again, and in came several more stunned and amazed people, including Arthur Weasley, who began filling in the rest of the empty boxes and most of the seats in the general gallery.  At ten o’clock, once everyone was settled and quiet, the doors opened again, this time admitting Amelia Bones, ICWW Director Fuyama, a man Sirius almost recognized, and a nervous and sullen Cornelius Fudge.  Those four people sat at the High Box and were quickly joined by Merlin, who by this time had changed his ‘working man’ clothes for a more professional outfit of a neatly tailored pinstripe suit in black and charcoal with a stark white dress shirt and a vivid blue tie that perfectly matched his ice-cold eyes.  He almost looked completely non-magical except for the long staff he carried and the black-and-grey hair he wore in a long pony-tail that hung down his back.  This time, there were no wizarding robes to hide his striking figure.

 

Once the idle chatter died down and the Chamber was quiet, Amelia Bones stood and introduced herself before introducing Director Fuyama to the entire group.  There was a short outburst of murmurings before the Chamber grew quiet once more and Fuyama stood to address the room.

“As the Wizengamot and the British Ministry previously voted to keep within the bounds of the International Confederation of Witches and Wizards,” she said clearly, with no charms used to project her voice, “the ICWW has decided to move to prepare Britain for the modern world.  To that end, with the insistence of Merlin, we have invited the British Prime Minister to this session to witness the changes we are about to institute in this country.

“The first announcement I must make, however, is not a happy one for Britain.  With permission of the British Parliament, and the Crown, Wizarding Ireland and Wizarding Wales have _both_ seceded from Wizarding Britain, and will be convening their own Wizengamots at the start of the New Year.  There are many reasons for the secessions, but mainly they occurred because Wales and Ireland wanted to join the Magical World in a larger way, and Magical Britain had been historically determined to stay locked in the distant past.  If Magical Britain refuses to prosper and progress, the ICWW will depart completely, Merlin will move his Seat of Power from Tintagle in Great Britain to Castell Caerdydd in Wales, and Magical Britain will cease to be.”

Sirius, who had been taking notes all during Fuyama’s speech, stopped writing and glanced around the Chamber as a clamor began, with everyone speaking at once, shocked at the announcement.  The faces around him bore expressions of anger and confusion, and Sirius figured that it was because most of the new members were absent from the previous session and were unaware of the severity of Britain’s situation.  He had a feeling that that was about to change, and very quickly.

After several minutes passed, quiet once again fell in the Chamber and Fuyama took the podium again.

“Before you all get the idea that we are trying to form a dictatorship over Magical Britain, we are most certainly not.  The ICWW has no interest in forcing any of you to think or act in any particular way.  But we are decidedly against allowing Darkness take over any large concentration of Magical people, and we are willing to do as much as possible to prevent that while we allow Magical people around the world to progress alongside the rest of the world’s population.”

Fuyama took a moment to look around the Chamber, seeking eye contact with as many people as she could manage in just a short time—just to let them all know how serious she was.  “There is one other major announcement in regards to ICWW involvement in Magical Britain, and then I shall hand this meeting to Merlin.  The ICWW is fully taking control of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  This is non-negotiable, and there will be no arguments.  While the school charter prevented governmental interference in every day procedures, the level of quality of education in that institution has dropped dramatically in the last fifty years.  As Hogwarts now cannot even match quality in the least esteemed magical school outside of Britain, the ICWW will be taking over the running of the school in an effort to bring the standards to peak levels.  Sweeping changes will not go into effect until after the end of the current term, but several changes will be implemented during the Winter break—including some major staffing changes.  All parents will be notified of new procedures by mail before June first of next year.  Thank you for your attention.”

With that, Fuyama took her seat next to the man Sirius understood to be the British Prime Minister.  He was an older, austere man with white hair and a long face, and he appeared to be very composed while sitting amongst all of the Magicals even though he was completely without magic himself.  Intellectually Sirius knew that the Minister of Magic had to work closely with the mundane British government, but that relationship might not have been as good as it should have been if Fudge was anything to go by; clearly the former(?) Minister of Magic was uncomfortable sitting near the PM, even from three seats away.  Fuyama, on the other hand, was quite comfortable, chatting softly with the man and taking the time to offer explanations when he seemed confused about something.

Before Sirius could get lost in thought, Merlin again stood and prowled to the front of the Chamber, attracting attention slowly.  Once all was again quiet (the new members of the Wizengamot certainly had a lot to mutter about this day), Merlin raised his staff slightly before slamming in into the floor, causing a ripple of raw magic to fill the Chamber.  Suddenly there appeared mundane notepads and fountain pens in front of everyone who did not think to bring their own, and Sirius was glad that he had had the forethought to keep his own notes on this session.  Merlin paused his presentation long enough for everyone to gather their wits and try out the pens, as most of them were quite used to using quills and inkpots and parchment rolls.  Once every one was settled, Merlin again raised his staff, emitting a bright flash of yellow-green light that filled the room briefly before fading, and Sirius felt the magic settle around him like a full-body Veritaserum.

“I have wasted no time,” stated Merlin baldly, “in meeting with government officials in all Magical Nations around the world, and only four have been found lacking: China, Romania, Kenya, and Britain.  The first three have long removed themselves from ICWW representation, so I am willing to allow them to slide into indifference and exile.  Within the next twenty years, all Wilde Magic will withdraw from those nations unless they reform and deny the encroaching Darkness that fills their borders.  I am, however, not here to discuss China, Romania, and Kenya; my concern at this moment is the island nation of Britain, which I claimed as my own at the beginning of time when Wilde Magic broke free into this world.  You were given options one month ago: comply with ICWW regulations for government or withdraw completely from the ICWW and allow magic to be removed from Britain.  You chose to comply, so I shall explain what that means.”

Merlin began to pace slowly in front of the speaker’s podium, making eye contact with many of the new members.  “There will be no discrimination against cursed or ill individuals.  To do so is a crime against Magic, because Magic is a gift.  This means that whether a person is from an old, established family, or is a New Magical from a mundane family, whether a person is healthy and of sound body and mind, or is afflicted by one of any number of curses or diseases, unless they are proven to be completely Dark and unlawful—those Magicals are CITIZENS of BRITAIN, and they have the SAME rights as anyone in this room!”

“You…you mean werewolves, don’t you?” blurted Amos Diggory, immediately shrinking back in his chair once he realized that he spoke aloud to Merlin of all people.

Merlin spun on his heel and faced Diggory down, and the portly man shrank further in his chair.  “You have a problem with this lack of discrimination?”

Diggory cleared his throat softly.  “Well, werewolves are Dark creatures, aren’t they?  They’re not really people.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and Sirius could see Diggory shudder slightly.  “The most damage done to any Magical community in the past twenty years was done by a Wizard with dark hair and dark eyes.  He was wholly human.  Do you think, then, that we should allow laws against dark-haired, dark-eyed humans?”

Diggory shook his head furiously.

\--red light to Mr. Greengrass—

Merlin smirked but inclined his head, permitting Greengrass to speak.

“So what you’re saying is that not all werewolves are Dark?”

“Unless you have definitive proof otherwise, a werewolf is merely a human that has been afflicted with the Lycanthropy Virus.  There is no cure for this virus as yet, but the symptoms are clear: physical transformation into a wolf/human hybrid on the night of the Full Moon, as well as the night before and the night after, a loss of mental acuity during this time, and animalistic aggression during this time.  As for times other than Full Moons, a werewolf will have heightened senses of smell, sight, and hearing, and will always have an adverse reaction to exposure to aconite blossoms and silver.  There is no indication that the virus creates Darkness on the individual’s Magical Core.  If the individual was a law-abiding, productive citizen, the virus would not change that, and treating these people as if they are anathema is abhorrent to the nature of Wilde Magic!”

\--red light to Mr. Greengrass: “What about those werewolves who have broken the law, or attacked innocent people?  Surely they are dangerous criminals and should be treated as such.”

Merlin straightened his stance and faced Greengrass head-on.  “Measures are being taken to deal with those who attack indiscriminately, endangering children and adults alike, and a treatment has been developed in North America that allows lycanthropes to live peaceful lives free from the pain of their affliction.  Wolfsbane Potion will be eliminated as a treatment because forcing a person to poison himself every month is abhorrent.  The ICWW will bear all expenses for the new treatments.  Since Lycanthropy cannot be transmitted from parent to child or sexually, the Order of Summerisle hopes to see a full eradication of this virus world-wide within the next thirty years.”

Greengrass seemed mollified, but Sirius could see how unhappy Diggory was with the situation.  Still, he kept his mouth shut, so Sirius considered that a win.

Merlin resumed his slow pacing, staff clicking along with every other step.  “Attacks on Mundanes will cease, and discrimination against those from Mundane backgrounds will cease.  There is no proof that having a so-called ‘Pure’ bloodline makes for a more powerful Magical, and in many cases the Wilde Magic is much stronger in newly formed Magicals than in those who come from long family lines.  Discrimination of this sort has led to a great deal of Darkness and episodes of terrorism in this nation, and that shall no longer be permitted!

“While the Minister of Magic is tasked with enforcing laws, protecting the citizens of this country, and maintaining relationships with other nations, the Wizengamot is tasked with setting and enforcing legal punishments, presiding over criminal and civil trials, instituting regulations, and representing the citizens of this country.  When I first entered this Chamber after my long sleep, all seats were filled with members of wealthy and prominent families, with no space for merchant representatives or members of the less-elite citizenry.  That status quo will no longer stand!  I have met with the rulers of Great Britain, the Crown and Parliament, and while I will not remove titles and wealth from those who hold it—I can remove corrupted power from Dark families.  With permission from the Crown, I have elevated several families to the status of Honorable, and I have elevated others to the status of Noble.  These families do not hold peerage within the Mundane world, but they will hold title within the Magical community.  I have also instituted the presence of Merchant Representatives within the Wizengamot, so that everyone is fairly represented within the government.  Before the end of this session, you will all be encouraged to vote for representatives to the ICWW so that the British Ministry of Magic has a clear voice in the Magical World as a whole.”

 

Sirius sat back in his box as Merlin called for a short recess and several Ministry Elves brought in refreshments.  Nobody left the Chamber, and nobody new entered, so everyone was left to mill about and form alliances within the new members.  Sirius’ scowl discouraged Diggory from approaching, but Bertie and Lord Mendleson brought sandwiches and a tea service to his box to discuss the proceedings so far.

“Well,” said Bertie wryly, “I can’t believe I once thought the British Wizengamot was boring.”

Sirius snorted indelicately before sipping hot tea from a china cup.  “Yes, well, I bet my grandfather would have been amused if he had lived to see this.”

Mendleson nodded sagely.  “Yes, Arcturus would have found all of this to be quite amusing—and all past-due.”

Sirius sighed.  “I’m not sure what I expected after that whole sheep-thing,” he paused when the other two laughed in surprise, “but clearing out the whole show certainly wasn’t it.  I’ll admit to enjoying watching the more… _under-represented_ groups filling the old Death Eater seats.”

“Yes,” said Lord Mendleson gravely, “it always unsettled me how the Ministry tried to raise taxes on merchants, but refused to hear from those same merchants about how those taxes should be used.  Perhaps now we can begin to regulate prices on goods and services offered in a way that actually makes sense.”

“One social reform at a time, old friend,” said Bertie as he slapped Mendleson on the shoulder.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Arthur Weasley had been stunned when he received the official Ministry owl carrying the ‘invitation’ to join the New Reformed Wizengamot, but he sent his RSVP dutifully and said nothing about it to his wife.  He did, however, send a note to his oldest son, Bill—along with a request to meet him for a late lunch/early dinner after the session on December second.  Bill sent a note in reply, congratulating his father on becoming a voting member of the Wizengamot and offering the advice to seek out Muriel Prewett—Molly Weasley’s great-aunt and the Matriarchal Head of the Prewett Family.  Arthur had never been close to the woman before his marriage to Molly, and she was infrequently heard from since then for all that she lived rather close to the Burrow, but Bill’s suggestion that Muriel might have some insight into the recent actions of Molly was sound.

Arthur’s head was practically spinning from all the information he was expected to ingest, and he was glad of the writing materials that were supplied so that he could take notes; he would certainly be reviewing all of it later, when he met with Bill.  When refreshments were brought in, Arthur found he was suddenly craving strong, hot tea, and he made a bee-line for the service line.

And found himself standing next to a haughty Muriel Prewett.

“Hello, Arthur,” she said stiffly.  “I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I, er, yes,” Arthur stammered.  “I received the invitation last week, with instructions to keep it a secret and to get my House in order.”

Muriel’s eyes widened briefly in shock, but she quickly schooled her expression and accepted a teacup from one of the Elves.  She moved away from the line, and Arthur quickly gathered his own tea and hurried after her.

“Muriel!” he gasped as he glided along side of her.  “I was wondering—could you spare some time today, after the session?  I’m meeting Bill—my oldest?  We’re having a meal after, to discuss what’s going on, and, well…he suggested that I try to speak with you.  It’s about Molly.”

Muriel studied the man before her for a long moment, taking in his defeated posture and hopeful eyes before nodding in acceptance.  “I shall be available after this session.  There is much, I think, that we need to discuss.”

 

Once the session was over for the day, the shell-shocked Wizengamot members (old and new) gathered their notes and shook hands all around, promising to commit to one alliance or another and making plans to meet after New Year’s to discuss any promising changes they might need to implement.

Arthur quickly rounded to the Head Box to congratulate Amelia Bones on her elevation to Minister of Magic—and to introduce himself to the British Prime Minister (as part of the Outreach Office, Arthur would be giving reports to the man in the near future, so he wanted to make a favorable impression).  Alastair Moody had agreed to be sworn in as the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Pius Thicknesse was promoted to Head Auror in place of Rufus Scrimgeour, and they were both chatting amicably with the PM, who was very interested in the law-keepers of Magical Britain.

Once he had shaken hands with everyone, Arthur looked around for his in-law and found her just exiting the Chamber with a crowd of Noble House heads.  Arthur quickened his pace to catch up with her, but not enough to look as if he was actually rushing, and he found Muriel waiting for him in the antechamber just outside of the lift area.

“Where are you to meet your son, Arthur?” she asked as they watched the Wizengamot Chamber empty.

“Um, I think Bill will be waiting for me in the commissary area, near a tea cart.  Of…of course, we won’t actually eat there,” he quickly assured her, “but it’s a good place to meet.”

“Very well,” said Muriel archly.  “We will have a small meal at my club, then.  The food is good and we won’t be bothered.  Gather your son and meet me in the Atrium.”  With that, she was off into a lift, leaving Arthur gaping after her.

 

Arthur squeezed into the next available lift and hurried to meet Bill, who was having tea and chatting with the cart assistant—a pretty young witch who seemed enchanted with Bill’s dragon fang earring.  Arthur tapped Bill on the shoulder to get his attention and apologized to the witch for dragging his son away.

“Your Aunt Muriel is meeting us in the Atrium, Bill, and we’re going to grab a bite to eat.”

The relief on Bill’s face was palpable, and Arthur realized just how nervous his son had been—and how strained the distance between Molly’s extended family and Arthur’s own really was.  Usually when wizarding families lose members in a war or disaster situation, the remaining members draw closer together, strengthening bonds and building alliances.  That did not happen when Molly married Arthur, and when her brothers were killed in the last Voldemort War the Prewetts drew sharply away from the Weasleys altogether.  Arthur was busy raising his family and never really noticed the distance, but Bill certainly had, and so apparently had Muriel.

Bill and Arthur wasted no time in meeting Muriel, and soon the trio was Floo-ing to a private dining club in the middle of London’s theatre district.  Muriel ordered for all of them, including a bottle of mellow red wine, and the trio was soon ensconced in a private dining booth with no windows and a charmed privacy curtain.  Once the food and wine had been delivered and the privacy charm had been activated, Muriel filled her plate (and glass) and studied Arthur while he did the same.

“You said your invitation told you to ‘get your House in order’,” Muriel stated plainly.  “What exactly did that mean?”

Arthur set aside his fork and swallowed his first bite, steeling himself to tell the truth to the one person that Molly would most look up to.

“There had been an…incident.  One that I was not aware of.  When it was brought to light, it was done in such a way as to possibly cost me the Family Magic—and to possibly risk my entire family.”  Arthur took a quick sip of the wine and Bill gave him an encouraging look.  “Instead, I was offered my dream job and a position on the Wizengamot, because someone involved in the higher ranks of the Order of Summerisle had faith in me.  Or maybe they wanted to see if I had the strength to bring my family to heel.  I’m not really sure, to be honest.”

Muriel eyed him shrewdly.  “What did Molly do to endanger the Weasley Family Magic?”

Arthur gaped at her and Bill choked on a bite of cod.  “How did you know that Molly had done something?”

Muriel sighed and waved her hand over the table.  “Let us eat, so that we may drink, and then we shall discuss the dark secret of the Prewett Family.”

Arthur was now very curious, and so was Bill if his expression was anything to go by, so he ate.  He ate rather a lot, actually, because he could sense a need for much wine to accompany the coming discussion.

Bill did the same.

The meal, while delicious, passed quickly, and once their plates were empty they vanished from the table, leaving the bottle of wine and three wine glasses.  Muriel poured, filling all three glasses, and then drank deeply—something so out of character for the prim older woman that Arthur glanced at his watch to see how much time had passed because Polyjuice Potion only lasted for an hour.

“The Prewett Family,” said Muriel finally, “holds a very dear magical legacy—one that is tied to our children.  There is a reason that the Prewetts have matriarchs to rule over the family, you see: we—the mothers of the family—predominantly birth daughters.  And if our power is held within our daughters, our strength is held within our sons—but only if we are lucky enough to birth twins, something that it extremely rare in the Magical World.  It is such a rare instance, in fact, that there is a complete record of all twins born to Magical families all across the globe, and it only contains one hundred names.”

“One hundred in any given year is not bad,” said Bill cautiously, but Muriel turned her full attention to him with a frown.

“Not one hundred in any given year,” she said tartly.  “Not even one hundred sets of twins ever.  One hundred twins, since the famed Romulus and Remus were born in 720 BC.  Fifty sets of magical twins.  Six of them were born to Prewetts.  Molly’s brothers Gideon and Fabian were the last, until your sons Fred and George were born.”  Muriel drank deeply again and sighed.  “I cursed the day Molly gave birth to those boys.”

Arthur gasped and Muriel turned back to him.  “Don’t get me wrong, Arthur; I adore the twins deeply.  Their antics make me laugh, and I have not had much laughter in my life recently.”

Arthur’s mouth dropped open for a moment.  “I, er, was unaware that you had met Fred and George.”

Muriel lifted one arched eyebrow.  “Some days in the summertime, when you are busy at work and Molly is busy with the youngest two children, Fred and George will fly to my home on their brooms and show me their latest pranks.  Don’t look so shocked, Arthur; I only live three miles away.  Just because Molly has not recently been to visit—and I have never been to your home—does not mean that I am ignorant of your family.  I also exchange letters with Charles and I keep myself apprised of William’s career.”  Muriel turned again to Bill and said, “You’re going to go far, young man.  Your superiors have nothing but good to say about you.”

“Then why,” asked Arthur, “did you curse the birth of Fred and George?”

Muriel sighed and lifted her glass, indicating that her companions should drink as well.  “Since the advent of the Prewett Family, many generations ago, the women pledged their honor to Magic itself.  Their _personal_ Magic, you see, not just the Family Magic.  We were always the village Wise Women; the healers and midwives and herbalists.  Sometimes we could choose a man who would add to our strength, but most of the time we chose to raise our children, our daughters, alone without mates.  While this was generally frowned upon by the religious leaders of times past, we got on in our own way and we kept our strength to ourselves.

“If we were lucky enough to marry for love, and to choose mates that would allow us to remain autonomous, our strength would grow and our daughters would remain Magically powerful.  If we chose poorly…well, sometimes our mates would over-power us and our strength would wane.  This happened six times in the past, where Prewett women lost their personal Magic within a marriage and the Family Magic suffered.  Each time, Wilde Magic would offer a gift to bring our strength back to full power: twin boys, one of which would carry the Magic of the father and the other who would transfer the Magic of the mother.  After each twin birth, a daughter would be born and the Prewett Magic would grow again.”

Bill frowned into his wine glass.  “I was the first born in my parents’ marriage, though.”

Muriel sighed.  “Yes, you were the first _born_.  Molly was with child once before you, William, but she contracted Dragon Pox.  She recovered quickly but she lost the child, a daughter that would never carry the Prewett Magic.  The Prewetts have never been short of daughters, however, so the Magic would continue.  I have two daughters of my own, and two grand-daughters, even though I never married.  But Molly was devastated at the possible loss of connection to the Prewett Magic.  That is why she tried for another child so soon after you were born.”

“Charlie was born four years later,” said Arthur numbly, “and I thought I was so fortunate to have another healthy son.”

“You are fortunate, Arthur,” said Muriel sternly.  “Never think you aren’t!  Many wizarding families only have one or two children, so you are quite blessed.”

“Yes,” said Arthur as he swallowed more wine, “and I was very surprised when Percy was born ten years after Charlie, but I was equally happy.”

Muriel huffed a mirthless laugh.  “And that is where Molly showed her desperation to retain the Prewett Magic.  As I mentioned before, Prewett women were talented healers and herbalists.  We are also talented brewers, creating potions to ease childbirth and to encourage fertility.  As Molly aged, she felt distant from the Prewett Magic.  She came to me often to bemoan her loss, and I told her every time that she was mistaken; that I could still clearly and strongly feel her connection to the Family Magic.  But she was deluded, and set about to find a way to correct her perceived disconnection.  A fertility potion was brewed, and along came Percival—another son.  Molly became more desperate after that, and she went to my oldest daughter to borrow the Family Grimoires.  I didn’t know until it was too late what she was up to, but Molly found an account of the original Magical Gift—and she found a way to artificially reproduce that gift, using many dangerous herbs and compounds.  Once she announced her pregnancy, with twins no less, I found her notes and the entries in the Grimoires and I destroyed the lot.  Such things should never be attempted.  The pregnancy, if you will recall, was difficult, and Molly’s body chemistry was upset badly.”

“I remember,” said Bill.  “She couldn’t even use housekeeping charms or cooking spells, and Charlie and I took care of the house.  That was when she put that damned clock on the wall in the hallway, too, so she could keep track of us all.”

“I never approved of that clock,” sniffed Muriel.  “In any case, once the twins were born, Molly was certain that she had regained the connection to the Prewett Magic, so she took another fertility potion to gain her lost daughter.”

“And she had Ron instead.”  Arthur’s head was spinning, and he was certain it wasn’t because of the wine.  “But Ginny was born the next year, so Molly got her daughter.”

“Yes,” said Muriel as she gulped the last of her wine, “and she also lost any inherited power that she should have gained from the Prewett line.  You see, our power is in our daughters, but they must be naturally born.  When Molly used a potion, and I’m not entirely certain that she didn’t tweak it a bit to ensure a daughter that last time, she involuntarily gave up her Prewett connection and became completely a Weasley.”

“But,” asked Bill desperately, “is that such a bad thing; being a Weasley?”

Muriel smiled and patted his hand gently.  “It’s not, really.  Molly married for love, which is always our goal, you know.  And she bore children for love—at least at first.  But the Prewett legacy is more than Magical Power and Strength; there is physical and monetary wealth.  I own a lot of land in my own name, without benefit of a husband, and I inherited some of that from my mother; and she from her mother, and all going far back.  The Prewett Family is a Noble and Ancient House standing alone against the Patriarchy that rules much of the world, and by disconnecting from that legacy, Molly ensured that she will inherit none of it.  If she had only had the first two, or even the first three, sons, her legacy would still have been secure.”

“And Ginny?” asked Bill, though the look on his face said he already knew the answer.  “Is she connected to the Prewett Magic?”

 “No,” answered Muriel.  “I had hoped against hope that a connection would form after Ginevra performed her first accidental magic, but it did not.  Even still, I doubted my own instincts and asked my own children if they could feel a connection, but they were unaware that Molly had even birthed a daughter.  The Prewett Legacy will not go to Ginevra.”

Arthur was pale as he set his glass carefully on the table and clenched his hands together.  “So now I understand why she did what she did, but how do I correct it?” he muttered.

“What has Molly done?  I know I asked earlier, but I’m afraid that I allowed myself to get side-tracked.”

Arthur looked at the woman he was hoping would be an ally and took a fortifying breath.  “Molly was involved in an attempt to falsify a marriage contract between Ginny and a very wealthy and powerful young man, using disguising magic to forge my signature as Head of Family.  She was complicit with a man who claimed falsely to be the young man’s Magical Guardian, and the contract was a blatant attempt to gain control over the young man’s fortune, properties, and Family Legacy, leaving him powerless in the marriage and making Ginny a Matriarch in the union.”

Muriel stared in horror for a long moment before gathering her wits about her.  “Surely the goblins did not allow that contract to become validated!”

“No,” affirmed Arthur, “they did not.  I was called into Gringott’s in August and confronted with the contract; I suppose to see if I knew anything about it.  When I could prove total ignorance, I had the privilege to witness the burning of the contract and I received a warning that I needed to reassert my ownership of the Weasley Magic or the goblins would wash their hands of me, as refusal to do so would tar me with the same brush as those who tried to defraud the Bank and their client.  And so now I sit here, wondering how to confront Molly without damaging my children in the process.”

“You’re a good man, Arthur,” said Muriel.  “I always thought so.  You’re going to have to assert yourself and invoke the _Regula Patriarcha_ over your wife and children.  It won’t affect William or Charles since they are out of your home and living fully adult lives, but it will contain the minor children and will strengthen the Family Magic against any damage Molly has inadvertently caused.  Don’t do it while you are angry, or you could do much emotional damage.  If you would like to wait until after Christmas, I’ll join you as Matriarch of the Prewett line; that way, Molly will understand that we are united against her duplicity but are _for_ the unity of your family. I also do not want to damage your children.”

Arthur smiled in gratitude.  “Thank you, Muriel, for your support in this difficult situation.”

“Yes, well, if Molly had succeeded with her theft, the magical backlash would have left you powerless and unable to care for your children.  I find that to be unacceptable.”


	20. Chapter Fifteen: Winter Break--The Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the holidays are officially over, and I'm readying the house for my Spring Cleaning and De-cluttering, I have time to post this first portion of Winter Break. There will be three parts of this: a beginning, a middle, and an ending. All three parts will tell about what happened while the school was closed for three weeks. 
> 
> Hope you all had an enjoyable and stress-free Holiday Season, and that you each have a safe and prosperous New Year!

**Chapter Fifteen: Winter Break—The Beginning**

“Lucius!  What is the meaning of this?”

Lucius Malfoy barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes as he turned toward the source of the irritated growl and found himself facing the sheep-like visage of the man he knew as Edgar Parkinson.  Lucius also refrained from shuddering at the sight of the sheep-ish features he was faced with.  It had become apparent, over several days since the latest Wizengamot session, that only those who were present during Merlin’s ‘reveal’ of the sheep-like behavior of the blatant blood purists could actually still see the results of the transformation.  Nobody on the ‘outside’ could see the blackened faces and ears and wooly fleece that covered faces on wizards from nearly all walks of life in and around the Ministry of Magic.  It came in handy, actually, in that it allowed newly appointed Minister Bones to discretely dismiss or re-assign Ministry employees in order to get the bad seeds out of direct power.

On the other hand, it also made for uncomfortable moments when Lucius was faced with acquaintances or business colleagues and had to pretend like he didn’t notice that they looked like, well, farm animals with human bodies.

They were standing at the edge of the lobby of Gringott’s Bank, so Parkinson had not raised his voice too loudly (it would not do to cause a scene, after all), but still this was a confrontation the Lucius would have liked to avoid until after the holidays.

“What is the ‘this’ to which you are referring, Edgar?” Lucius asked archly, although he was certain that he already knew.

Lucius, in an effort to completely reconstruct the Malfoy name and reputation, had begun ‘cleaning house’ so to speak.  Any completely Dark objects or artifacts—and many merely questionable items—that he had inherited from his father had been removed from Malfoy Manor and willfully destroyed by Gringott’s employees at his direction.  Lucius made extreme cuts in his business dealings as well, and made a complete break with several questionable persons in a blatant matter, which caused some distress among other business partners, but Lucius had calmly explained the breaks and had come out smelling like a rose.  So to speak.

And another measure Lucius had felt that he had needed to take was the breaking of several long-range contracts that may have linked him to Dark or extremely Dark-grey wizards long into the future.  Hence this confrontation.

“I am talking,” said Sheep-Parkinson with a hiss, “about the cancelled marriage contract between your son and my daughter!  Without even consulting me!”

Again Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes and he signaled a passing goblin, requesting a private meeting room if at all possible.  The goblin gave a sideways glare at Parkinson, leading Lucius to believe that the goblins might also see the physical indication that the man followed a Dark wizard blindly, and led them to a small room just past the Vault Transport area.  Once the door was closed, Parkinson wheeled around and hissed at Lucius again. 

It was most disturbing.  Lucius did not physically react.

“You summarily destroyed that betrothal contract, and I had to find out during my regular monthly account review!”  Parkinson’s blackened face flushed darkly in fury, but Lucius remained passive.  “I demand an explaination!”

Lucius let slip a small sigh and rested his briefcase (but not his wand/cane) on the table in the room.  “Edgar, I realize that your dedication to the Purist Movement has been, in the past, quite quiet and subtle, but times have changed and I can no longer afford to be closely associated with such a social movement.  I have been restructuring the Malfoy holdings and associations, and that means that I have been reviewing the advantages or disadvantages of certain…provisions.  The contract with your family, detailing a future betrothal between your daughter and my son, is no longer advantageous to my family.  Until you complete such a review yourself, there shall be no future joining of our families in such a way.”

“But…but…this would have made us royalty in the Dark Lord’s ranks!”

Lucius snorted indelicately.  “Edgar, the Dark Lord is dead.  His body was destroyed in 1981 and his spirit and soul were destroyed within the last few months, and he is never ever coming back.  It is long past time that you and everyone like you realize that.”

Parkinson stiffened.  “What do you mean, ‘everyone like me’?”

This time Lucius did roll his eyes.  “The people on the fringes.  The quiet followers of the Dark.  The ones that never offered up their arms for a Mark, but followed blindly and gave resources to bring about a New Order.  You may have never offered yourselves to be branded, but your ideals and attitudes are…clearly apparent.  Drastic changes are in our future, and I plan to be on the right side of things.  I am trying to protect my family—my son.”

Parkinson flushed darkly again.  “And you think I’m not?  Uniting our families will only make us stronger!”

“No Edgar,” said Lucius smoothly, “it will not.  I have risen above my former placement in Voldemort’s court, and tying my son to the daughter of a Dark Wizard will only drag me and my family backwards.”

“How can you say that?  Draco and Pansy have been promised to each other since they were infants!  They are our way of moving forward!”

“Edgar,” began Lucius deliberately, “do you love your daughter?”

“What?” sputtered Parkinson.  “Of course I do!  What a thing to ask!”

“Would you do anything for her?  In order to protect her?  Would you stand by and allow pure Darkness to overtake her, to sleep with her at night and to breed more Darkness with her?”

Parkinson’s face paled slightly—as much as it could.  “That would never happen.”

“It would,” said Lucius grimly.  “It very well almost did.  But I found out about it, and I put a stop to it, and I am making certain that my son had the choice to marry someone who will love him and stand by him—for who he is and not for his money or property or contacts.  But you are not there yet, and that is why I cancelled the contract.”

“I don’t understand, Lucius.  Was it really going to be that horrible?”

Lucius leveled a cold gaze at the other man and watched as Edgar Parkinson backed away slightly.  “It was going to be much worse.”

 

And really, it was much worse than anybody (other than Sirius Black and those other gentlemen from the Order of Summerisle) ever knew.

Lucius had found out, only by arranging the special healing for his House Elf, Dobby, that it was not merely exposure to that damnable diary that had sickened the elf—but also exposure to the ‘living’ portrait of his father, Abraxus Malfoy.  The portrait was located in the locked office that Abraxus had used during his lifetime, along with the book entrusted to him by Voldemort.  Lucius had thought it was by sneaking into that office to clean that Dobby was exposed to the pure evil leeching from the book, but that was not the case.

Dobby was also being lectured by Abraxus on a daily basis, and it was the darkness in that man, left over from his very active and corrupt life, that helped progress the madness in the elf.

Even worse?  Dobby, at Abraxus’ request, was bringing young Draco Malfoy to the office to meet with his late grandfather.  After his death, Abraxus was taking the time to induct Draco in the Purist beliefs that non-magicals were inferior beings and that non-humans were far beneath him and should be subjugated often to keep them in their places.  This disclosure was made when the Summerisle healers came to retrieve Dobby, and both Lucius and Narcissa were incensed.

The reason for Lucius’ visit to Gringott’s that day was to deliver that damnable portrait into the deep security vault that held the portrait of Narcissa’s father and a wall from Sirius Black’s London townhouse.

 

“I found,” said Lucius as he gathered his belongings together, “that there was a plot in place to draw the pure soul from my son’s body—and to replace it with the essence of Voldemort.  I was to lose my son—my heir—and that young body was to grow naturally with the un-natural spirit of a Dark Lord inside of it.  Tell me Edgar: do you think an adult Dark Lord inside of a child’s body would care if your daughter was not mature before he defiled her?  Do you think he would care to give the appearance of caring, or would he abuse and destroy that princess you claim to love so much?  I made my choice in order to save my son.  We may, at some point, revisit this issue—but life changes must be made on your part first.”

 

Edgar Parkinson was left wringing his blackened, hoof-like hands as he watched Lucius Malfoy exit the meeting room and disappear into the crowd of the Bank.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

Harry, Hermione, and Neville sat side-by-side at one end of the Gryffindor House table, facing the center of the Great Hall with their trunks at their feet.  Hermione’s Ever-Full baskets had been magically collapsed and packed inside of her trunk and Harry’s owl, Hedwig, had already left the owlrey, flying off to Bertie’s manor house and the care of Bertie’s valet, Morrie. 

Everyone around them was eating breakfast and talking loudly, because they would soon be escorted to the Hogwarts Express for the journey home for Winter Break.  That trio, however, was foregoing breakfast in order to enjoy (?) the short and quick ride on the Knight Bus.  They were patiently waiting for Bertie to arrive so that he could shrink their trunks and escort them to Hogsmeade to call the bus.

It was, therefore, a complete surprise when they were approached by Dora Tonks—with trunk in tow.

“What are you doing here?” asked Harry, curious but polite.

“Well,” said Dora, “I’ll be joining you today, if that’s all right?”

Hermione brightened, as she normally did when a female offered to be a buffer from the constant testosterone.  “That sounds fun!” she said.  “But did you remember not to eat or drink?  Harry was most insistent that we not have breakfast.”

“Yeah,” said Dora with a shrug as she took a seat on the end of the long bench.  “I’ve heard about that bus, so it sounded like a good idea.”

“Not to be rude or anything,” said Harry, “because I’m happy to have you along, but _why_ are you travelling with us?”

Dora shrugged again.  “I’ve decided that, as a future Auror, I should experience every possible mode of emergency transport that I can, so this is a good start.  Also,” she added with a twinkle in her eye, “I’m almost a Hogwarts graduate and I think it’s a shame that I haven’t done something like this yet!  It’s so non-conformist, and my mother is meeting me in Diagon Alley for shopping before we go home.”

They all shared a laugh, drawing the attention of everyone else in the Great Hall.  They ignored everything and went on to chat a bit.  All around them, Hogwarts elves gathered trunks and took them to the train station and students gathered pets and familiars for the journey home.  Before everyone left the House tables to meet in the front hall, Harry approached the Weasley Twins after making certain that Percy and Ron were well away from them.

“Hey, guys,” he said softly, “I know you wanted to get together at some point during break, so maybe we can meet for lunch in Diagon Alley on the twentieth?  I have to be there for a fitting before the Yule Ball at Malfoy Manor, but that’s the only time I’ll really have free.”

Fred and George exchanged a long look, communicating silently for a moment before Fred answered.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  We can ask to finish some Christmas shopping so we can leave the house.”

Harry nodded abruptly.  “Okay.  So, I’ll send a note when I know for certain what time I’ll be free, okay?  Have a good holiday, yeah?”

“Yeah, see ya, Harry,” said George, and Harry watched them leave.

Moments later, Bertie Porpington arrived, moving against the tide of students leaving the castle.  If he was surprised to see Dora, he didn’t show it; he merely shrank everyone’s trunks and pocketed them for his own Apparition to Diagon Alley.  Bertie shook hands with Professor McGonagall and asked to speak with her and Professor Flitwick shortly before he had to leave.  McGonagall nodded and retrieved her colleague for a chat.

“Forgive the short notice,” said Bertie as he glanced at the four students talking quietly beside the huge oak doors, “but I would like to issue an invitation to the two of you, to join us in my private box for the performance of ‘The Nutcracker’ ballet on December twenty-first.  Hermione’s parents will be with us, of course, as well as Madame Longbottom. It is, of course, a Mundane production, so you will have to dress appropriately, but we would love to have you.”

“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” exclaimed Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick nodded in agreement.

“Wonderful!” said Bertie.  “I’ll Floo you the details.  We’ll be having an early supper before going to the theater.  See you then!”

          @@

“Very well, Harry,” said Bertie as he stuffed his hands into the warm pockets hidden in his heavy cloak, “do you want to do the honors, or would you like to allow one of your friends to summon the bus?”

Since Hermione was practically bouncing, and it had very little to do with the cold, Harry told her, “Go ahead, Hermione.  Do the honors!”

Hermione nodded briskly and pulled her wand from the holster.  “So, all I have to do is raise my wand arm?”

Harry nodded.  “Yup.  They’re very quick, so be prepared to stand back.”

Harry, Dora, and Neville positioned themselves well behind the girl as she raised her right arm confidently, and with a loud **_!BANG!_** a lurid purple triple-decker bus appeared from out of nowhere.  Hermione stumbled backwards with a start, but was quickly corrected by Bertie before she fell over.

The bus doors opened and out stepped a uniformed steward, who said, “Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard.  I’m Oscar Burber, your conductor.  Where are you headed today?”

Harry stepped forward and said, “We’d like to go to Diagon Alley, please.  And where is Shelley Burghtree?  She was the conductor the last time I rode the bus.”

Oscar smiled at the boy and said, “Shelley got married last week, and she’s still on her honeymoon.  But she’ll like that she made an impression, so I’ll let her know someone asked about her.”

The four students bade farewell to Bertie and boarded the bus, declining the offers of tea, chocolate, or food, and found two empty bed/benches together on the lower level.  With a **_!BANG!_** they were off, and Bertie lifted his eyes to the heavens before Apparating to Diagon Alley himself, suddenly in need of strong, hot tea.

Less than an hour later, Bertie heard the mysterious **_!BANG!_** on the street outside of the Leaky Cauldron and exited to greet the dazed and dizzy students as they departed the bus.

They appeared a bit frazzled, but none the worse for wear, and Hermione was giggling as she turned to thank the conductor for the ‘enjoyable trip’.  Dora and Neville looked a bit green, so Bertie ushered them into the pub for some tea and food.

“That,” said Dora with a shudder, “was absolutely _horrid_!  I need to do that again!”

Neville snorted indelicately and said, “Never again, if I can help it.”

After a short meal, Bertie turned Dora over to her mother after handing her the shrunken trunk, and led the other three children to the back door of the pub.

“We have enough time to visit MerryWear and order your dress robes for the Malfoy Yule Ball,” Bertie said lightly, “and I suppose we can do a bit of shopping if you want.”

The students exchanged glances before Hermione answered.  “I don’t mind a bit of shopping here, but I’ll be doing most of my holiday shopping with my mother in the Mundane world.  I think a lot of my school friends would like something simple that they can’t find in the Wizarding World.”

“Well, I’d like to find something for my grandmother,” said Neville, “and that won’t be easy if she’s with me while I finish my Christmas shopping.”

Harry agreed that it would be the perfect time to find a gift for Sirius, so they all headed to Gringott’s for quick withdrawals (and an exchange in Hermione’s case) and soon they were all gathered in the warm and welcoming lobby of MerryWear Party and Dress Robes for All Occasions.

Narcissa Malfoy had been quietly Flooing into Madame Circe’s classroom twice a week during double periods for the last two weeks, and she and Circe patiently taught the trio of students how to dance and dress for a formal occasion.  She even brought a brand-new catalogue of fancy-dress fashion and offered advice on dress robes for younger witches and wizards.  It was with her urging that they decided to order from MerryWear, and they were being measured for their choices that day and returning to choose final colors on December twentieth, when Harry and Neville would be doing the majority of their holiday gift shopping.

The fittings were completed easily enough, and Hermione chose her selection quickly and sat quietly, reading, while Harry and Neville looked over several choices.  Once they were all finished, they headed for the more fun shops along the Alley.  Hermione found some Tooth-Flossing String Mints in a candy shop and thought her parents would be amused (her father wrote and sang praises for the Bertie Botts that Harry sent to him via Sirius after the train ride at the start of term), but she also found a jaunty little chimney-sweep cap for Dodger in Glad-Rags.  Neville chose a charm bracelet for his grandmother, with a single charm of tiny sleeping dragon—to signify his first year of Hogwarts. 

Harry took a lot more time in choosing a gift for Sirius.  He barely knew the man, for one thing, and he had not had the time to ask what the man might like for a gift.  Harry knew that a gift was not exactly necessary; Hermione gave him the harsh truth about over-spending and the spoiling of children after watching Draco Malfoy open another goodie-box from his mother at breakfast one day, and Harry had had a lifetime of seeing his cousin Dudley be spoiled to the point of intolerability by his aunt and uncle.  But Sirius was the first adult that actually acted as if he cared for Harry, and he was working hard to make a home (a real home) for Harry to live in during summers away from school, so Harry wanted to show his gratitude in some small way.

Still, he looked in windows and down aisles, and found nothing.

“Harry,” said Hermione softly, “if you can’t find a ‘perfect’ thing, I might have an idea.”

Harry turned to his friend with relief in his eyes.  “I’ll take any suggestion, Hermione!  Let’s hear it!”

Hermione pursed her lips and pulled a bound book from her bag.  It was her photo album from their trip to Summerisle that summer, and she flipped through several pages before finding what she was looking for: a photo of Harry and Sirius by themselves, looking at a pool under a waterfall and laughing at the antics of the magical eels swimming under the surface.  Apparently Dodger had taken the photo while Sirius and Harry were not paying attention, and genuine affection was showing on both their faces.

“I was thinking: maybe I can ask Dad to take this photo and get it copied and placed in a tree ornament.  We can get the year engraved on it and he can hang it every year and remember that special day.”

Harry swallowed deeply and launched himself at Hermione, giving her a heart-felt hug.  “That’s perfect, Hermione!  Thank you!”

They pulled apart and hurried to find Bertie and Neville waiting outside.  If Bertie noticed Hermione wiping away a tear or two, he never let on.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

**_December 14, 1991_ **

When the Hogwarts Express landed at King’s Cross Station, Arthur Weasley was there to meet his children.  It was an unusual occurrence as Arthur usually had to work when his offspring left for, and returned from, school, but Arthur made certain it was he and not his wife that collected the boys on that day.

He didn’t even really have to try all that hard to take her place, as she was busy bustling around the house baking and decorating and finishing some knitting projects before Christmas.  To be honest, Molly was rather flustered about having all of her school-age children home for the holiday because they usually chose to stay in the castle for the break.  This year, Molly had been hoping to convince Arthur to take her to Romania so that she could visit her second-oldest son, Charlie, and now that plan had fallen through.

Arthur had decided to take the day as a chance to speak with his younger sons without her interruptions.  He needed to show them, without interference, that he was re-establishing his power as Head of Family, and make it be known that there would be no question about it, and that there would be a ritual the day after Christmas to cement the decision.  Ronald and the twins might not understand, but Percy was certainly old enough to understand the implications; Molly Weasley would no longer be the public voice of the Weasley Family.

 

“Dad!”  The happy voice carried over the noise in the platform area, and Arthur looked around until he found the source: his twin sons disembarking from the ahead and to the left of him.

“Dad!  What are you doing here?”

Arthur smiled in spite of himself.  “Hello Fred, George.  How was the first part of term?”

“It was fine, Dad,” said George as he hugged his father.  “What are you doing here?  Where’s Mom?”

“Well,” said Arthur as he greeted his other sons, “your mother is busy at home, so I thought I’d come and get you all, and perhaps we can get supper out before going home.  I have rather a surprise for you all.”

 

The surprise happened to be the presence of the elder Weasley children, Charlie and William at the wizarding pizza parlour located just outside of King’s Cross Station.  While Ron spent his time quizzing Charlie on his job at a dragon preserve and Percy was chatting with Arthur about his classes, the twins were focused on Bill.

“Is something going on with Dad?” George asked.  “I mean, I know he’s happy about the new job, but he’s acting kind of…weird, now.”

Bill sighed and crumpled his napkin onto his plate.  “Honestly, guys, Dad has a lot of stuff going on right now, and none of it was exactly expected.  I’m sure he’ll tell you what you need to know once the hustle of the holiday is over, but I really can’t say anything right now, okay?”

Fred nodded in agreement but asked, “Is anything wrong?”

Bill sat back in his chair and studied his twin brothers—the very twins that may have sent his mother into a tailspin—before answering.  “Things are…not right, right now, but Dad knows what he has to do to fix everything.  It’s going to be a hard fix, though, and the family might not be right for a long time after.  Just…try not to be a huge bother, okay?  I know the two of you can be quite…exuberant…sometimes, when you’re experimenting, but I’d appreciate if you could tone it down until school begins again.  Dad’s got a lot on his mind right now and he really doesn’t need to be worrying about the house falling in.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 18, 1991_ **

“Well, Harry,” said Sirius nervously as he opened a heavily-warded ironwood door, “here it is.  It’s not much now, but believe me—it was so much worse before.”

Harry chuckled as he walked through the entrance to the townhouse that Sirius had grown up in.  The windows had been cleaned and polished, and bright sunlight shown through, reflected off the snow and ice in the front garden.  The walls were paneled in oak and the parquet floor shone like glass.  There was no furniture that Harry could see, nor any ornamentation on the walls.  There were carpets, of course; oriental pieces that seemed ages old but were still in good repair.

Harry walked from the front hall to the front parlor, where there was a large Floo receiving area, to the library, to the formal dining room, to the ballroom, to the den.  Each room was empty and without personality, but clean.  There were no drapes over windows or shades over lamps.

“I, uh, I thought we could decorate it together,” stammered Sirius.  “You know, make it a home we could both enjoy?  I don’t have a lot of happy memories of this place, so I gutted it and only kept the valuables that weren’t completely Dark.  The library used to have so many more books, trust me.”

Harry spun around and gifted Sirius with a huge grin.  “I think it’s awesome, Sirius!  Will I really get to decorate my own room?”

“You bet, Pup!  Why don’t we go upstairs and you can pick the one you want?”

Sirius led the way up the carved-oak stairs and Harry followed, trailing his fingers over the intricate banister.  The staircase was also brightly lit, but Harry could tell by the color of the wood that this was not always so.

Grimmauld Place was a tree-lined street in the heart of a posh residential district just outside of London, near an Underground station and a huge public park.  Bertie had confirmed that the street was actually not far from Hermione’s home, being just a few stops away on the subway.  Harry privately thought that it was silly for Sirius’ family to live among non-magical people like they did, but he figured that it would be foolish for a Dark family to try to live in a solely magical enclave because that would attract too much attention.

Still, the house, like all the others on the street, was brick-faced and well-kept, and Harry figured he could really like it there.

Part of his vacation plans for the winter break included visits to the three Potter family homes so that he and Sirius could assess the properties and see to any major repairs that might need done.  Decorating his own real bedroom was just going to be practice for Harry before doing any major work on the Potter homes.  For now, though, both Harry and Sirius were still living with Bertie, and that was where they would be spending the majority of the break.  Hedwig was happily perched there now.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 16, 1991_ **

The heavy doors of Hogwarts castle burst open, admitting icy wind and swirling snow—and six humans bundled against the cold weather.  They were met in the corridor by Madame Circe, who was wearing a nervous smile.

The six visitors entered with no noise or fanfare, and no noise greeted them.  The paintings on the walls were silent and the ghosts were conspicuously absent.  Even the staff was missing, and none of them had left the castle as yet (the Heads of House were still finalizing housing arrangements for displaced students).

“Lady Nimue,” said Circe in greeting, “I trust everything is going well?”

Nimue hugged her Sister-In-Magic and smiled.  “Things are very interesting, Circe, as you well know.  Your students are doing well?”

Circe grinned.  “Harry is an unexpected joy in the classroom, and I adore Hermione and her inquisitive nature, but Neville may be the diamond that outshines them all.”

Nimue lifted one eyebrow in query and Circe smirked in response.  “He has a talent for plants that rivals your own; surely you noticed that on the Isle?  Between the three of them, I have renewed my love for teaching and may well continue long after they are gone.”

Nimue nodded gently.  “I am very happy to hear that, Circe.  Knowledge is meant to be passed on to future generations, and you may be requested to take additional classes in the next term.”

Circe wrinkled her nose in distaste.  “Then I’ll need a regular classroom, because other students will not be able to enter my sanctuary.”

A figure stepped forward and lowered the hood on his cloak, revealing a dark face with noble, broad features and black coarse hair.  “Circe, do you have the information that we requested?”

Circe turned to the newcomer and replied, “Of course, Nabu.  I’ve compiled the files in my quarters, but I’m afraid the information is bleak.”

Nabu nodded and gestured for the other four visitors to follow him and Circe around the corner and into her office, but they were stalled by Nimue.

“Where is he, Circe?”

Circe’s face was grave as she pointed the way down a long corridor off the main hall.  “He never leaves his office lately, and I know what that signifies.  The corruption is settling deep into his bones and he can’t afford to be seen.  McGonagall is furious with him, of course, but even she doesn’t know the extent of his treachery.  I, of course, keep my distance as much as possible, since it isn’t any fun to taunt the old man anymore.”

Nimue shook her head.  “It’s so much worse than you think, Circe.  I wouldn’t think you’d be happy to taunt a dead man.”  Nimue swept away down the long corridor, leaving the others to follow Circe into her tapestry-protected sanctuary.

 

Once inside the hidden classroom, the four cloaked visitors dropped their coverings to reveal themselves: Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff, and Salazar Slytherin.  All were dressed warmly in mundane jumpers and woolen slacks or skirts and heavy comfortable boots.  Circe was momentarily surprised but she recovered quickly.

“Your daughter is still here,” Circe told Rowena.  “She’s still drifting around this drafty place, and so is the Baron.  I don’t approve of them being any kind of influence over the students in this school, but I thought you should be warned before you come across them on your own.”

Rowena frowned deeply, forehead wrinkling in thought.  “She never passed on?  How utterly horrible!  That will never do; I shall have to speak with her before we take residence.”

Salazar was sitting at the desk, flipping through the thin files in front of him.  “Is this all there is?”  He shook his head in confusion.  “There should be more…everything.  Students attend this school from age eleven to age seventeen; this makes no sense….”

His voice drifted off as the others joined him to review the files, each one looking disturbed at their findings.

Circe perched herself on top of one of the student desks and swung her legs gently.  “There are a lot of unused classrooms, of course,” she said, “which I found to be very upsetting.  But I was most upset about the empty dormitories.  And they way they sort the students?  Well, you’ll have to do something about that.  It’s a horrible disgrace, that is.”

Godric looked up from the file he was reading and said simply, “Tell us.”

 

          @@

 

Nimue stood in front of the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office and smirked.  “You’re very cute, but completely unnecessary.  Move aside, please.”

The gargoyle, which always stood between the Headmaster of the school and everyday annoyances (and which had been keeping the Deputy Headmistress away from Albus Dumbledore most sincerely, irritating the hell out of her) gamely jumped aside, revealing a spiral staircase that began rotating upwards.

Nimue waved her hand and halted the movement, choosing instead to walk the distance to the Office.  She covered the short distance quickly and silently, surrounding herself with an impenetrable aura of Pure Light Magic.  At the top of the twisty staircase was a plain wooden door that swung open silently when she reached it.

Nimue stood in the doorway of the Headmaster’s office and took in the view: Portraits of past-Heads that were sleeping or absent from their frames, shelves and tables covered in glass-and-metal constructs that were unmoving and covered in dust, a large wooden desk covered in tattered texts hiding a velvet-covered throne-like chair, stained-glass windows covered in dusty velvet curtains, and a gold-and-ebony perch holding a moldering, ratty Phoenix that was waiting to burn.

Nimue approached the sorry bird and it trilled softly to her.  “Soon, my friend,” she said, stroking its head.  “Not much longer now.”

The creak of a door hinge drew her attention, and Nimue turned to face the small staircase that led to an upper-level bedroom and lounge.  At the top of the stairs stood a once-regal man dressed in robes the color of sunshine yellow and decorated with purple and rose stars and hearts.  His hair was long and white, as was his beard, and his frame was too-thin and lanky.

“Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?” the man croaked with a voice damaged from disuse.

Nimue stood away from the Phoenix and walked to the foot of the stairs.  “Hello, Albus.  You’ve been a very bad boy, haven’t you?”

Watery eyes tried hard to focus and a hand twitched uselessly inside a long sleeve.  “My dear girl, shouldn’t you be in class?  Did I send for you?”  Albus Dumbledore grasped the hand rail and began to descend the stairs, and Nimue stepped away to give him room.  “It’s of no matter; whatever you might have done to earn a detention can soon be smoothed away.  Just let me sign your slip, and you can return to class.”

Nimue stepped back to give the old man room, never for a moment taking her eyes off of him.  Weak he might have been, but Nimue was aware of how dangerous he could have been—and that he could very well be faking the apparent senility.  Nimue used her carefully honed MageSight and located his wand in a pocket hidden in his sleeve and made note that there was an enchantment on the wand.  Until she held the Magical Focus, she would not know what the enchantment was for.

Albus sat on his throne-like chair and folded his arms in front of him on top of the desk.  “Now, my dear, did we have a meeting scheduled?”

Nimue took a defensive stance in front of the desk and kept her empty hands plainly in view.  “I believe we are long past-due for a meeting, Albus.  I’m here to make certain you step down quietly so that this school may move forward and compete fairly with other Magical schools around the world.  I’m also here to prevent you from succeeding in your plans to turn Wizarding Britain completely Dark.”

Albus dropped the doddering-grandfather act momentarily and stared at Nimue.  “I fear that you must be mistaken,” he said coolly.  “I am Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot and holder of the Order of Merlin First Class.  I am a Leader of the LIGHT!  Wizarding Britain has nothing to fear from me; it never has and it never will.  All of my plans have been for the Greater Good!”

Nimue tilted her head as she studied the elderly wizard in front of her.  “I wonder,” she said after a moment, “if you have actually come to believe that.  I had a short chat with your boyfriend before I came here, and he insisted that everything _he_ did was for the Greater Good as well.  Of course, he told me many things during that short chat.”

Dumbledore slumped in his chair.  “My relationship with Gellart was unfortunate.  I have come to know that the way of Light is the only way wizards will survive, and I have endeavored to lead by example when possible.”

“I’m certain that was true, at one point.”  Nimue cautiously approached the large desk.  “But that hasn’t been the case since in some time, has it?  Not since you fostered and nurtured another Dark Lord to defeat so that your name would never fade into obscurity.  And not since you sacrificed a young family as martyrs to your cause ten years ago, setting up an abused orphan to become your sacrificial lamb after you obliterated an Ancient and Noble House.”

Dumbledore’s expression changed quickly from one of old regret to cold fury.  “There was a prophesy!  Fate cannot be ignored!”

“Oh, come now Albus,” Nimue laughed, “there is _proof_ that you activated the Trelawney Accord while working for the Outreach Office.  There was no prophesy, not from Sybil Trelawney.  Not then, not now, possibly not ever.  Sybil has not shown a talent for it in all her life, and she knows it.”

A trembling hand twitched on the desk, but Nimue gestured quickly with her own steady hand and halted Dumbledore’s movement.

“Ah-ah-ah, Albus!  There will be none of that.”  With a slight swish of her hand, the hidden wand flew from the secret pocket and landed in her own palm.  She regarded it for a minute, turning it over and around, tip-to-tip as she examined the long piece of willow wood.  She smirked slightly and twisted her hand, and a lavender glow encircled the wand and it changed appearance, darkening from aged willow to hearty elder wood.  “Ah, there you are.  I’ve been looking for you.”

Nimue placed the dark wand into a pocket in her cloak while Dumbledore sputtered in his seat.

“Do…do you have any idea what you have done?” he asked, horrified.

“Why, yes,” Nimue said dryly.  “I have liberated the Elder Wand from a megalomaniacal Dark Lord wannabe.  We have the stone, of course; Riddle had taken it and almost completely desecrated it.  The only Hallow we need to locate is the Cloak, and I’m not in a hurry to find that.  It’s quite harmless without the other two.”

“What will you do with the Wand and Stone?” Dumbledore asked bleakly.

“They’ll be going into the _Well of Dis_ , where they belong,” she said sternly.  “I don’t really have to ask what you were planning to do with them, do I?  It’s of no matter now; we have only to deal with you, Albus.  I certainly hope you don’t plan on putting on a fuss; things will go so much easier for you if you co-operate.”

“And what are you going to do with me?”  Albus Dumbledore suddenly sounded very tired.

“You’ve damaged your Core irreparably, Albus,” said Nimue as she took Dumbledore by the arm.  “If you hadn’t used the goblin bank to play your games, you might have survived with Magic intact.  I think, for your safety, you will be placed in a high-security cell, where you can live the rest of your life looked-after and insulated.  There is a nice cell next to Gellart, would you like that?”

“You know,” Dumbledore said timidly, “I think I rather would.  What will you tell everyone, once I’m gone.”

Nimue led the way to the Floo and activated it with a handful of Floo Powder.  “The official story will be that you have retired into seclusion due to health reasons, and that you will not be taking visitors.  We shall take the task of preparing a publishable statement from you, so that the school will not be inundated by queries into your condition.”

“But,” Dumbledore stalled, “what will happen to the school without me?”

“Don’t worry about Hogwarts, Albus.  It will be well taken care of.”

                   @@

 

“Where are the professors now?” asked Helga Hufflepuff as she closed the file in front of her.

“They’re in the faculty lounge,” said Circe as she hooked her thumb over her shoulder, “across the hall.  Some will be leaving for the holiday in a day or so, of course, but McGonagall will be staying here during the entire break—with the exception of attending a ballet performance on the twenty-first with Professor Flitwick.  They’ve only just found placement for the ‘homeless’ students and they’re having a celebratory tea.”

“Very well,” said Helga, standing, “then they’ll hopefully be in a reasonable mood now.  We must discuss the upcoming changes to the school, and I’m curious as to whether Professor McGonagall will be willing to act as interim Headmistress for the rest of this school term or if I will have to take the mantle until a suitable replacement is found.  Now then,” she added as she turned to Circe, “do you have the recorded reports from the classes?  I shan’t like going into such a confrontation unarmed.”

Circe smirked as she opened a deep desk drawer and fitted one of her many pendants into a recessed keyhole, revealing a false bottom filled with leather-bound ledgers.  As she lifted the ledgers from the drawer, gilded writing on the edges was plain to see—each ledger marked with a professor’s name and class topic.

“The House-Elves were most cooperative once I explained that I was hoping to make the school far superior to other Magical Schools in Europe.  They have a lot of pride in their home, you know.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****


	21. Chapter Sixteen: Winter Break--The Middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note for two things here:  
> 1--the long absence. I've been recovering from hand surgery, so typing was just not happening.  
> 2--the flow. The last chapter, this chapter, and the next chapter will all skip around a bit. That's actually intentional, but might be difficult to follow. No apology. This is my story. I just wanted you to know it was on purpose.
> 
> The next two chapters might be short, but stories advance in many ways.

**Chapter Sixteen: Winter Break—The Middle**

**_December 18, 1991_ **

****

Fred and George Weasley were in the front garden of their family home when an unfamiliar plain barn owl swirled gently from the sky and landed in front of them, laden with a single, unadorned envelope addressed to the both of them.  George took the letter and offered a bit of apple that he had from his lunch before the bird again took flight.  The transaction went unnoticed by anyone else in the family, which was quite lucky as the house was incredibly full for the upcoming holidays.

_Fred and George_ , read the letter in simple print, _I shall be in Diagon Alley the morning of December 20, and shall be available for lunch (and answers to your, I’m sure, interminable questions) at eleven o’clock.  I’ll have a reservation for a private room at Foothills, which is next to MerryWear, near the stationers.  Lunch is on me, as I will also be with my godfather and Bertie, so feel free to bring your escort, if you have one, or Lee Jordan if he’s with you.  Regards, Harry._

George looked to his twin and asked, “What do you reckon?”

Fred considered for a moment before replying, “We’ll ask Dad for permission, but we’ll ask Bill to take us.  Maybe suggest that Dad could take Ron and Ginny shopping the same time, so we don’t look too suspicious.”

With a nod in agreement, George led the way to the rickety shed that held his father’s sanctuary and opened the wooden door.  They found Arthur sitting at a desk reading from a green file folder.  When the door opened, Arthur merely set the folder on the desk and turned toward them, not hiding anything.

“Wow, Dad,” exclaimed Fred automatically, “this place looks so different!”

In previous years, while the children were growing up, the shed at the end of the garden was home to Arthur Weasley’s collection of fascinating Muggle Things.  It was cluttered with piles of plugs attached to nothing, shelves full of broken trinkets, and cabinets odds and ends that Arthur had collected during his raids for work—muggle items that had been enchanted by wizards in order to vex unsuspecting innocents (Arthur would record, officially, the item and curse, and then remove the curses and keep the objects).  Molly Weasley hated the shed and its contents, but she stayed clear of it and encouraged her children to do so as well.  It was Arthur’s refuge, and his offspring would often find him there if they needed him.

Now, however, the shed was neat and tidy, and the collections had been pared down considerably.  Shelves and cabinets still held muggle—Mundane—things, but they were clearly labeled and were paired with a Magical equivalent.  The piles of junk were gone, replaced with file cabinets filled with colorful files corresponding to Arthur’s clients.  Molly still avoided the shed, but this time at Arthur’s insistence.

“Oh, yes,” stammered Arthur slightly, “I supposed it does.  It’s my unofficial office, now, so I have to keep things in order.  Now, what can I do for you boys?”

George flashed the letter briefly and said, “Christmas is coming up really quickly, but we haven’t quite finished our shopping.  A friend is going to be finishing his shopping in two days, and we were wondering if we could ask Bill to take us to Diagon Alley so we could meet with him and get stuff done.”

Arthur’s eyes brightened.  “Oh, well, yes, I supposed that could happen.  Have you asked Bill yet?”

“Nope,” said Fred.  “No point in doing that if you said ‘no’.  And if he agrees, then you can take Ron and Ginny yourself so we can all shop independently.”

“Yes, yes,” said Arthur as he placed his folder into a cabinet and joined his sons by the shed door.  “What about Percy?”

George rolled his eyes.  “Perce has probably had his stuff done by Halloween.  He’s so _efficient_ , you know.”

 

          @@

 

A slightly ruffled brown owl knocked against the kitchen window of a very unassuming townhouse in Mundane London, and bounced when the window did not open.  It again approached the window and scratched at the casing, making quite a bit of noise.  Fortunately for house structure, an oddly-dressed House Elf was beginning to wash breakfast dishes, and heard the scratching.  The elf opened the window and allowed the owl to enter, taking the letter and offering left-over bacon and water to the harassed animal.

The elf walked into the dining room, brandishing the letter.  “Miss Hermione,” said the elf with a slightly squeaky voice, “you has mail.”

Hermione Granger looked up from her newspaper and frowned at Dodger.  “Mail? The post doesn’t come this early.”

Dodger shook his head, bat-like ears wobbling slightly.  “There be an owl in the kitchen.”

“Oh!  Is it Hedwig?”  Hermione reached for the letter and opened it eagerly, completely missing the amused glances from her parents.  Hermione read, and re-read, and then smiled before looking up.  “It’s not from Harry, which I should have figured because Bertie has a telephone and Harry could have just called.  It’s from a school friend.”

“I see,” smiled Emma Granger.  “And is this a _special_ school friend?”

Hermione’s smile immediately screwed into a look of disgust.  “Eew, no, Mother!  It’s from Millicent Bulstrode, one of the girls in my year.  She’s asking if I can meet with her at the clothiers to braid her hair before the ball.  We’ll be doing last fittings at the same time.”

“Can’t her mother do her hair?” asked Dan Granger.

Hermione shrugged.  “She probably could, but that’s not what this is.  This request from Millicent is more for friendship than hair.  Millie is in Slytherin House at school, and she’s surrounded every day by the children of Blood Purists who consider themselves to be elite.  The older students are bad, but the ones my age can practically be intolerable, and Millie was looked-down upon because she’s not skinny or super powerful or brilliantly smart or even moderately wealthy.  When we started our study group, Millie was one of two Slytherin students to join after the first month, and only two others have joined since.  Plus, she has hair like mine, so I know what will work best for her.”

“Well, then,” said Emma graciously as she sipped her morning tea, “perhaps you’d best reply to that letter, and tell your friend that I look forward to meeting her.”

Hermione blushed, but accepted her father’s pen and quickly replied, handing the letter back to Dodger so that he could release the owl in the kitchen.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 16, 1991---Hogwarts Faculty Lounge, First Floor, Near the Entrance Doors_ **

 

Circe casually leaned against the same fireplace mantle she’d leaned against before the school term began, and just listened to the uproar that filled the room.

It began quietly enough, of course, when Circe led the visitors (sans Nimue, who would be returning after running her ‘errand’) into the faculty lounge—a sanctuary for the teachers that was never breached.  The quiet conversations stalled when the strangers entered the room, and then the volume rose.  And rose.  And rose.

The visitors had yet to have said a thing.  Circe was amused.

She tried, of course, to see things the way the Hogwarts staff would have seen them: A tall, regal, dark-skinned man with short, wooly hair and golden jewelry and tattoos (really, gold tattoos) adorning his face and bared arms, dressed in brightly patterned wizarding robes of a Mediterranean style; a tall, deeply-tanned woman with long, wavy blonde hair (braided at both temples to keep the hair from her eyes) dressed in a heavy cotton button-down blouse in blue, with a heavy blue-grey wool cardigan over it and a heavy dark-grey wool floor-length skirt; A slender, shorter woman with long, straight blue-black hair (held away from her face with silver combs) and pale skin, wearing another shirt/cardigan combo (in white with green) over a black wool skirt with a ruffled hem; A stocky, broad-shouldered man of moderate height with a neatly-trimmed beard and moustache and shoulder-length wavy hair (brown with reddish highlights), wearing a cream-colored flannel shirt (plain, no pattern) over dark brown cargo pants with heavy work boots; A tall, thin man with an angular face and short black hair with a deep widow’s peak and black eyes, wearing a deep blue flannel shirt over black cargo pants and work boots.  They certainly looked a motley crew, of course, and very, very Mundane (other than the dark man).  Circe smirked again, and allowed her eyes to flicker over the paintings in the lounge, none of which were moving or speaking.

At the far end of the lounge, on the wall opposite the fireplace, was a large portrait of the Four Founders of Hogwarts, painted in1566CE.  The four subjects of the portrait didn’t even bear a slight resemblance to the comfortably-dressed strangers in the room.  The blonde woman turned her head and saw this portrait and huffed in disgust, drawing the attention of the other three.  While they clustered to critique the portrait, the staff members continued to rage, Circe continued to smirk, and the dark man continued to remain silent.

Three minutes later, another woman entered the room and silence finally fell.  This woman was clearly Magical, was clearly powerful, and was clearly the authority figure with this new group.  Circe watched as Minerva McGonagall approached the newest newcomer cautiously, showing her own authority as Deputy Headmistress.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said McGonagall clearly, “but is there anything I can help you with?  Only, as I don’t know who you all are, would you mind telling me what you’re doing in this school?”

“She’s got spunk,” said the wavy-haired man to the blonde woman in a loud whisper.  “There’s hope for this place yet.”

The last newcomer smiled a gentle smile and replied, “I am Lady Nimue of Summerisle of the Deep, and I am a close associate of Merlin.  We’re here about the state of the school.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 20, 1991_ **

 

The day dawned bright and clear and very cold, and there was a hint of snow in the air.  Harry, dressed warmly under his wool cloak, was bent over a sample book with his godfather, Sirius.  Neville was undergoing his final fitting, observed closely by his grandmother, while Hermione, Emma, and Bertie were conferring over color swatches.

“I know the green will make my eyes stand out,” said Harry carefully, “but I really like this dark gold.”

Sirius looked from one swatch to another before nodding.  “You’re old enough to know what you like, Harry, so go ahead and try it.  The fabric pattern is nice and subtle, but you won’t know how it looks until you have it on.”

Harry smiled and signaled the shop associate.  Once the dapper young man was next to him, Harry pointed out his choice and asked, “If this actually looks horrible on me, how difficult will it be to change?”

The associate demurred, “There should be no difficulty at all, Mr. Potter.  If you change your mind before the final spellwork, the change will be immediate.  Everything will go smoothly unless you change your mind after you have left the shop today”

“Okay, then,” said Harry, “let’s do this.”

 

Moments later, the room was silent as every one of his friends silently judged him.  Even Harry wrinkled his nose at his reflection.

He shrugged and turned to face the room.  “I know it looks bad, but I really don’t want to do green.”

Emma snorted delicately and said, “If I might suggest something, Harry?”  Harry nodded, so Emma approached him with a swatch book.  “The wizarding world doesn’t seem to understand a color wheel, which is basic art education for small children where I come from.  Why not try this same basic pattern, but in fuchsia or mauve instead?  Reds and pinks complement greens very well, and they’ll look good with your hair color.

Moments later, Harry was dressed in black dress robes with a muted mauve lining, Neville was wearing tangerine accents with his own black robes, and Hermione was resplendent in sapphire blue with a sweet-heart neckline.  When Millicent Bulstrode entered the shop with her mother, she visibly wilted at the sight.

“Millie!” exclaimed Hermione.  “What’s wrong?”

Millicent looked at her mother, who was studiously avoiding looking at Emma and Augusta Longbottom.  “Mum said that dark, muted colors would be best for a winter ball, and I shouldn’t draw too much attention to myself.”

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Mrs. Bulstrode, who seemed to be concentrating on the plain grey dress robes she chose for her daughter.  “Millie,” said Hermione, “there’s nothing wrong with muted or neutral colors, and season has nothing to do with it.  But adding a small splash of bright would be acceptable for a Yule celebration, at least according to all of the lore I’ve read.”

Millicent lifted pleading eyes to her mother, who shrugged and relented slightly, and she left to try on the grey robes before revealing herself to the small group.  The cut of dress was modest and rather old-fashioned, with long sleeves and a high collar.  But there was beading and lace, and Mrs. Bulstrode allowed Hermione and her mother to confer over possible accents.  Before a final decision was made, Hermione raised her wand and performed a braiding charm, causing Millicent’s hair to twist and climb in an intricate basket-weave with random loose curls brushing her cheeks and highlighting her graceful neck.

“Can you make the beads look like iridescent ice?” asked Emma softly.  “You know, like how light looks refracted through water?”

The dumbstruck associate nodded and waved his own wand, and the change was made: The dull, muted grey dress with grey beads transformed into a shimmering, fluid ice sculpture, highlighting all of Millicent’s brightness and hiding any perceived flaws.

Mrs. Bulstrode turned to Emma and stammered, “You are a fashion designer?”

Emma smiled gently.  “No, I’m a Mundane tooth surgeon with a teen-aged daughter.”

 

          @@

 

Harry, Sirius, and Bertie parted ways with the rest of the group and made their way to Foothills, a restaurant that specialized in Italian food.  Harry allowed Sirius to shrink his packages from their earlier shopping, but Morrie transported the dress robes to Bertie’s home to keep them from wrinkling.

“Have you thought about what you want to tell them, Harry?” asked Sirius as they waited for the Weasleys to join them.

Harry shook his head as he perused the menu.  “I only know that they have questions that I couldn’t answer at school.  I don’t know Percy Weasley very well, as he’s a bit older and very serious and studious, but Fred and George have actively tried to be friends, so I owe them at least a few answers.”

“Harry,” said Sirius so seriously that Harry looked up in shock, “you don’t actually owe anybody anything.  You never have to explain yourself or your choices.  I need to make sure you understand that.”

Harry offered a small grin.  “I know, Sirius.  I just….I would like to have a few good friends, and Fred and George might be good ones.”

 

At a few minutes after eleven, a small flock of red-heads joined Harry’s party.

“Sorry we’re a bit late,” said George Weasley, “but the lines in Gladrags were incredibly long.”

Harry stood to shake hands all around.  “I’m not surprised, actually, this close to Christmas.  It’s good to see you both.”

“Thanks for inviting us,” said Fred.  “This is our oldest brother, Bill.  He works for Gringott’s Bank.”

Harry shook Bill’s hand as well, introducing him to Sirius and Bertie before taking his seat.  “What do you do for Gringott’s, Bill?”

Bill puffed up a bit with pride as he answered.  “I’m a Curse-Breaker, actually.  Usually I’m stationed in Egypt, but I’ll be home for a bit on break.”

Harry’s jaw dropped.  “That sounds pretty cool!  You actually go into old tombs and stuff?”

Bill nodded.  “Part of a Curse-Breaker’s job is to uncover forgotten Magical crypts and to recover lost Magical relics.  We also destroy recovered Dark relics when we find them.  And we have to make certain that any traps are cancelled before unsuspecting non-magical people stumble upon them.”

Harry laughed.  “You’re just like Indiana Jones, then, but with a wand!”

Bill looked confused.  “I have no idea who that is.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Harry.  “He’s not actually a real person.  So,” Harry said turning to George, “I suppose you want to know about what you heard in the hall the other day?”

George blushed but nodded.  “It’s just…that was very odd, Harry.  Clearly you said something, but the words….”

Harry looked to Bertie and Sirius, who both nodded encouragingly.  “Right, well.  I’m a Parselmouth.  I was born with the ability, and I’ve been studying it for a few months now.”

Fred and George both paled dramatically.  “But that’s…that’s _Dark_ , Harry.  Dark wizards are Parselmouths!”

Before Harry could respond, Bill reached out and smacked both of his brothers on the backs of their heads sharply.  “You two need to learn what you’re talking about before you start spouting nonsense like that!  I work with two Parselmouths in Egypt, and they’re the Lightest wizards I know!”

Harry smirked as Fred and George sputtered.  “Well, there went my argument!  Actually, guys, I’m not ever going Dark.  The ability to speak to serpents is a neutral but rare ability, just like Ornitholospeak or Metamorph-magic.  Some people can just do it.  But Parsel Magic, the magic of serpents, is completely Light.  If your Core is corrupted even the slightest, you can’t perform Parsel Magic.  I want very much to become a Healer, so I’m sort of invested in not corrupting my Core.”

“But,” sputtered George, “they say several Dark Lords have been Parsel Mouths!  What about that?”

Harry frowned as he sipped some water.  “I’m sure some Dark Lords have been able to speak Spanish, too.  Just because not everyone can learn the language of serpents doesn’t mean it’s a Dark thing.  Sure you have to be born or gifted with that ability, but you have to be pure to train with it.  I have heard some indication that the most recent Dark Lord might have been able to speak Parseltongue, but all of his curses and spells are regular—just in a different language.  Parsel Spells, however, are stronger and Lighter.  I’ll show you some time back at school, if you want.”

Fred nodded.  “That would be good, thanks.  Look, this is going to sound…really strange and pushy, but you seemed to want to avoid all of us when you came to school, and you’re really keeping distance from Ron—which I totally understand because he’s a bit of a prat.  It’s just…have we offended you or anything?”

 

And that was totally a loaded question.  The waiter came for their orders, which gave everyone time to gather their thoughts.  Fred and George were amused by the friendly banter between Harry and his godfather—especially over which dishes to order so they could both try a bit—and were faced with a visual representation of what they themselves acted like around family.  Before food was brought to the table, conversation drifted around about Christmas gifts and holiday plans—very light and airy topics—but Bill was clearly discomfited by Fred’s earlier question.

Before anyone could bring it up again, Bill put a hand out to stall the conversation.  “Look,” he said calmly, “it’s apparent to me that Harry has a lot of information that has colored his opinion of our family—and rightly so.  Guys, Dad is going to make a formal announcement after Christmas, and I think then I’ll be able to answer your questions on that front.  Let’s just take all of this at face value and be thankful that, for whatever reason, Harry considers the two of you to be less offensive than most, and at least considers you to be more than classmates, yeah?  When we’ve dealt with the family issues, you can send a letter to Harry if you still need to talk about it.  Let’s just get to Christmas without this heavy stuff hanging over us.”

Harry nodded in agreement.  “Yeah, I agree.  I’ve already got heavy hanging over me, because of the Malfoy Ball tonight.”

Fred and George both scowled and Harry laughed.  “What’s that for?”

“Why are you going to the Malfoy Ball?” asked George with barely disguised disgust.

Harry shrugged.  “It’s really political.  Lucius Malfoy, in an effort to re-image the Malfoy name on the side of—maybe not Light, but definitely not Dark—did a good thing for the side of Light.  Several good things, I think.  And Bertie and Sirius are giving him a chance to pull his arse out of the fire on the whole Dark Wizard front.  And Lady Narcissa is a splendid woman with a great sense of humor and fashion, and she’s Sirius’ cousin, so I’m going to support her.  Her son’s a right idiot, but that’s not her fault I don’t think.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 21, 1991_ **

****

The ballet was awe-inspiring as far as the Magicals present were concerned.  Filius Flitwick was chattering happily with Augusta Longbottom, expounding on the wonders of performing arts while Harry, Hermione, and Neville were re-hashing the Malfoy Ball with Sirius and Hermione’s parents.

But Minerva McGonagall was standing apart from the rest, quietly sipping sparkling water from a crystal tumbler in the lobby of the theater during intermission.  She had been having a grand time.  The show was wonderful and the company was engaging.  But her mind was troubled.

“Something bothering you, Minerva?” asked Bertie, who had approached quietly.

She turned to her old friend and sighed.  “It’s what’s happening at the school.  What do you know about what happened with Albus, Bertie?”  When Bertie scowled darkly, she replied wryly, “Quite a lot, apparently.  You’ll have to tell me that story some day.”

“I really don’t think I should, Minerva.  You were very loyal to the man for so very long; I’d hate to rupture your memories so badly.”

Minerva arched one eyebrow incredulously.  “Would that be the effect, Bertie?  I’m much stronger than that, you know.”

Bertie nodded abruptly before resting a hand on her shoulder and guiding her back to the theater doors for the second half of the ballet.  “I know you are, Minerva.  But it’s for the best of the school if the Myth of Albus Dumbledore remains intact.  At one point he was a great educator and leader, and if those loyal to him start spouting the unvarnished truth, the school could be irreparably damaged.  Why don’t you give it until the end of the school year before we revisit this?”

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****


	22. Chapter Seventeen: Winter Break--The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wanting details about what happens to Molly Weasley:  
> It won't happen. She's inconsequential to the rest of this story. She may crop up again, much later, but she's no longer important here.

**Chapter Seventeen: Winter Break—The End**

 

**_December 27, 1991—Hogwarts Castle_ **

 

Severus Snape glided effortlessly into the faculty lounge and made his way to the tea service the Hogwarts elves kept fully stocked at all times.  His movements were deliberate and his eyes and ears were aware, but his mind was troubled.

Between having to make certain every student was out of the castle for the winter break (something that was never necessary before), the disturbing encounter with Lucius before the Malfoy Ball, and the news of Albus Dumbledore’s ‘medical’ retirement, Severus was left in a troubling place mentally.

The Dark Lord was actually, finally gone; the incredible lack of Lucius Malfoy’s Dark Mark was proof enough of that.  And the fact that Lucius had all but promised the same could happen to Severus if only he could make some sort of solemn vow was a bit to wrap his mind around (after all, vows were what got him that damnable Mark in the first place).  Lucius had promised to help Severus in any possible way, but Severus had felt trapped by yet another vow.

And then Dumbledore inexplicably left the castle without notice—and completely undetected—just after the last students were placed in safe quarters, and Severus’ last vow was left in limbo.

 

And wasn’t that staff meeting quite the circus?  It was bad enough that that smug Lady Circe had managed to find, renovate, and lay claim to the best and most coveted Potions classroom, but she had to bring veritable strangers into his sanctuary that promised to upset what ever balance they had enjoyed the past ten years.  The fact that the small red-haired woman claimed to be not only a contemporary of Merlin, but also his partner of sorts, fell rather flat on the Hogwarts staff.  It wasn’t until that dark-skinned man was introduced as Minister Nabu of the ICWW Educational Office that they all realized that Hogwarts was about to undergo some major upgrades.  Then the other four, plainly-dressed visitors were introduced as Lords Gryffindor and Slytherin and Ladies Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw.

That was when the staff meeting really fell apart.

Once a brief order was found, it was explained that Merlin (MERLIN!) had finally returned and was making a priority of raising Wizardkind to a higher level.  He had been travelling the magical world since his revival, and found that British Magicals were severely lacking, and the best way to fix the issue was to fix the educational and governmental systems.  As everyone had been reading news accounts about upheavals in the Ministry, this came as no surprise, but they were all caught unawares in regards to the ‘revivals’ of the Founders of Hogwarts.

It was explained, eventually, that Hogwarts would be restructured, with a new sorting method for students and new classes would be introduced to raise the standards of education in Magical Britain.  Every student from Fourth Year and younger would be ‘unsorted’ because placing students into ‘houses’ based on Magical traits they were too young to have developed was pure folly and would do no good for the students in question.  It was also explained that classes that had fallen out of favour in the past sixty years would be brought back, new professors would be hired, unused dormitories would be cleaned and utilized, and several programs would be opened that would allow for continuing education beyond Seventh Year, creating a University-style opportunity for Masteries and Apprenticeships—thus negating a need for Hogwarts graduates to travel outside of Britain for further education.

When asked how all of this restructuring was to take place between now (Winter break) and the beginning of the next school term in September, Minister Nabu explained about temporary Temporal Fields, which would allow time to pass slowly enough to have plans made and executed. (Flitwick was practically beside himself at the thought of such charms.)  Nabu explained that each professor would be given the chance to enhance their own subject and form lesson plans to be divided into ‘upper class’, or advanced study, and ‘lower class’, or beginner study, and that each professor would be given the choice of teaching either unit, and would be assisting in the hiring of additional professors.  It sounded very progressive, and Severus found himself to be unexpectedly impressed.

And the so-called Lady Nimue had promised a rather frank explaination about Albus’ affliction to those who had skin thick enough to handle it, if they wanted one.  Professor McGonagall, Headmaster Dumbledore’s right-hand, had requested to learn the unvarnished truth, but only after speaking so an undisclosed friend during her brief venture outside of the castle on the twenty-first.  Following her lead, for his own purposes, Severus also requested the information, as he felt knowing as much truth as possible might help him make some hard decisions.  The other professors, however, did not feel the same, as they knew perfectly well how ill Albus had fallen since he was rarely seen around the castle lately, so they were left to their own devices until December thirtieth, when they would be called forth to help create a plan to reinvigorate Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  With the help of the original Four Founders, of all things!

And now, here he was, fixing himself some strong tea and preparing to hear the ‘unvarnished’ truth about Albus’ illness.  Since the other professors were meeting in the Great Hall with the Founders, making notes about changes they wanted to see made, Nimue decided that meeting in the Staff Lounge would be best as it was neutral territory, and she felt that meeting in the Headmaster’s office would be ‘tacky’.

After he had settled in front of the warm fireplace, the lounge door opened and Minerva McGonagall appeared.  Her cheeks were flush with color and there was a dusting of snow on her cloak, indicating that she had just returned from outside.

“So sorry for my tardiness, Severus, but I needed to retrieve a package from Hogsmeade.”

Severus inclined his head slightly.  “You are not late, Minerva.  Our esteemed guest has not yet arrived.”

The door opened again, admitting Nimue, resplendent in a gauzy sheer tunic over a brightly-colored silk shell and flowing skirt.  In direct contrast to McGonagall, Nimue looked as if she had just come from a tropical island.  Her hair was not the coppery-red of their last meeting, but was instead a brilliant golden-brown that shone like the sun.  On her feet were jeweled sandals, and Severus shuddered with a perceived chill at the sight of them.

Nimue took a seat in front of the fire, but across from Severus and Minerva, and studied them silently for a moment.  “The two of you,” she said after a moment, “have been unflinchingly loyal to Albus Dumbledore for many, many years, even to the point of never questioning his more dubious decisions.  You, Minerva McGonagall, never once questioned the veracity of leaving an orphaned one-year-old on a doorstep on a chilly November night instead of ringing the doorbell and announcing your presence.  And you, Severus Snape, said nary a word about hiding a dangerous artifact in a school full of children without having safeguards to protect them.  I find all of that very disturbing.”

Minerva paled in shock and Severus drank deeply from his teacup in order to cover his unease.

“You, of course, cannot be completely blamed for your loyalty,” said Nimue unexpectedly.  “Even burgeoning Dark Lords find a way to ensnare their followers to prevent defection.”

“Albus…was Dark?” asked Minerva haltingly.  “Bu…but he was a Light Wizard.”

Nimue nodded slightly.  “At one time, Albus Dumbledore was the Lightest of Wizardkind.  But things changed: his father was imprisoned for attacking the Mundanes that harmed his sister, his lover managed to twist his heart against all but Magicals, and he grew to crave the power of being a leader. The Order of Summerisle would have, perhaps, allowed him to continue on his Path if not for his ultimate goal of enslaving the world.  If he had managed to act alone, I might still have let him be; certainly Magical Britain cared nothing about the world in general, stuck as they are deeply in the past.  But Albus Dumbledore decided to act against the Goblins in order to damage a Child of Prophesy, and that could have ended the world as we know it.”

At the word ‘prophecy’, Severus looked up sharply.  “You speak of the Potter boy.”

Nimue raised an eyebrow at him.  “I did, yes, but not the way you think.  Dumbledore, after drifting back into practical obscurity after the defeat of Grindlewald, decided that he needed to be raised into leadership again, so he systematically began to nurture another local Dark Lord, so Dumbledore could once again defeat him and be exalted.  Using his minor position with the Outreach Office, Dumbledore found an orphaned half-blood child and began to groom him in Dark Arts, both praising and vilifying him until his mind bent quite around.  Then, also using the position in the Outreach Office, Dumbledore gained access to the Department of Mysteries and the Hall of Prophesy, where he activated the Trelawny Accord, setting up lonely and ambitious Tom Riddle to become something Dark and twisted.

“Once Riddle gained incredible power, Dumbledore triggered the Accord, setting a hapless follower of Riddle’s to bear witness to a false prophesy.   Dumbledore needed to be seen as a benevolent leader, compassionate and all-knowing.  Once he gained that leadership roll again, he would be placed in position to gain control of the Ministry of Magic, and ultimately Wizarding Britain.  His fatal flaw, however, was using the goblins and Gringott’s Bank to falsify records and steal from a very powerful family.  We all know, I hope, what happens when you steal from the Goblins.”

Severus, however, was stuck on an earlier point.  “That prophesy I overheard?”

Nimue offered a sympathetic smile.  “You were horribly set up, Severus Snape.  I mean, really, who sets up a job interview—for a teaching position—in a disreputable bar?  Sybil Trelawney was a known…lush, shall we say?  After we interviewed her earlier this year, we learned that Dumbledore began plying her with sherry from the moment she arrived.  Once her taste buds were quite numb, we suspect he slipped her a mind-releasing potion, which would have triggered the Accord, and that’s when Sybil pronounced the same tired ‘prophesy’ that every member of her family has been pronouncing since 1320 when the Dark Lord Rambolt cursed the family.  Sybil Trelawney does not have the Seer Talent that so many in her family have, but every member of that family will recite Rambolt’s prophesy if the circumstances are properly aligned.  Dumbledore used the Trelawney Accord to set up Tom Riddle to become a powerful Dark Lord, then he set you up to betray a dear friend, and then he used his extreme power to bewitch, albeit temporarily, a Gringott’s account manager in an effort to defraud and steal from a powerful family.  We have had our eye on him for many years now, and have only just been able to act against him.”

Minerva’s hands were shaking and Severus stood to collect some strong tea for her.  He took the time to ponder his own situation, and he realized that he rather did not like being a pawn to a Dark Lord, and he would be very willing to do whatever it took to change that situation immediately.

He handed the steaming cup to Minerva, who took it gratefully, and looked at Nimue.  “What now?  Everyone in this school has potentially been damaged by Dumbledore’s machinations, so how do we proceed?”

Nimue smirked.  “Well, for one thing, several employment opportunities will be opened.  For instance, you, Severus Snape, are completely unsuited to teaching young minds, but I would like to offer you one of the Mastery positions that will come available next term.  You do not suffer fools well, but you are a brilliant Potions Master, and I believe that you would serve Magic well by instructing future Masters.  There are several candidates in Italy and Spain that have expressed interest in studying under you personally but were discouraged by Albus.  Nabu thinks it will be a good fit for you, and you would not have to leave the sanctuary of the castle if you choose.”

Severus frowned in consideration.  “It is true that I… _dislike_ …teaching the younger students, but I feel that my earned Mastery would be wasted if I do not take an apprentice.”

“Yes,” agreed Nimue, “and this would have you teaching at a university level, rather than children who don’t really need to learn advanced potions.  You would, of course, still be needed for the restructuring and planning meetings, and I believe that you specifically would have great insight on how to improve the Hogwarts Potions program.”

“Where is Albus now?”  Minerva’s interjection was abrupt but not unexpected, but she was obviously distressed by the thought.

Nimue answered plainly.  “Albus’ magical core was rapidly depleting, due to his abuse of Magic.  He was always a very strong person, and perhaps that’s why he survived much longer after his ill-doings with Gringott’s, but his personal Magic was killing him.  I showed perhaps a small bit of compassion, and removed what was left of his Magic, and then I installed him in a comfortable cell next to his former lover, Gellart Grindlewald, where he will be cared for until his natural end.  His mind, however, was broken because of his Dark actions.  Albus will spend what remains of his life living in recollection of his past, and that makes his placement a kindness of sorts.”

“A _kindness_?  How can you refer to prison as a kindness?”

“It was his choice, Minerva,” replied Nimue coolly.  “I could have had him executed for crimes against Magic, but I allowed him to live.  And perhaps you should remember your history lessons in that regard, because Albus didn’t suddenly become Dark—he had been plotting and planning to exert his will over the world for far longer than you have known him.”

With a slight flip of her wrist, Nimue produced an old sepia-toned photograph depicting a group of Aurors liberating a prison—one that was easily identified as Grindlewald’s own Nurmengard.  Across the archway entrance to the prison were carved words that read ‘For The Greater Good’.

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_December 22, 1991—Hogwarts Grounds_ **

 

“Hello Mr. Hagrid.  May I come in?”

Rubeus Hagrid stared questioningly at the fair-haired woman who asked the question before sliding awkwardly backwards and stammering, “Yes! O’course, Lady.  I’m honored ta have yer.”

Lady Nimue smiled warmly and entered the cluttered gamekeeper’s hut that was situated on the edge of the Hogwarts grounds, near the edge of the forest.  She glanced around at the furnishings and decorations and gratefully took the offered seat on a hard, wooden chair.

“I’m sorry it’s such a mess, but I weren’t expecting comp’ny.”

“It’s not a mess, Mr. Hagrid, not really.  This place is clearly loved and lived in, and every home should feel the same.”

Hagrid bustled around the fireplace for a moment, preparing a meager tea for his esteemed visitor, before joining her at the table.

“Ter tell the truth,” he said hesitantly, “I was kinda confused as to why you wanted to see me.”

Nimue set her large mug on the sturdy table and rested her eyes on the giant of a man before her.  “Why would you wonder about that?  You’re just as much a part of Hogwarts as any of the other staff.  In fact, I wanted to meet with you most of all.”

Hagrid blushed slightly and hid his face in his own mug for a moment before setting it aside.  “Um, why would you bother wit me?”

“Because,” said Nimue frankly, “you took the time to befriend and care for the young students of this school, and your love of this place is clearly evident.  I wanted to speak with you so that we could discuss your place at Hogwarts and a possible career advancement.”

“But, why would yer do tha?  I’m only Keeper of Keys because Dumbledore gave me a place as a kindness.  I figured since he retired, someone would be castin’ me out o’ here.”

Nimue leaned forward with her elbows resting on the edge of the table, and she made direct contact with Hagrid.  “Mr. Hagrid, you were abused and treated horribly when you were a child, due to no real fault of your own.  Yes, it was commendable for Albus to offer you a modest home when you had nowhere to go, but he could have done so much more.  He could have publically stood up for you and demanded proof of guilt before allowing you to be expelled, or he could have demanded the right to complete your education privately.  He did neither.”

“Albus Dumbledore was a great man,” Hagrid growled, “and he gave me a place when nobody else wanted me.  I’ll not hear another word against ‘im.”

Nimue sat back in her chair and took her mug into hand.  “Of course not, Mr. Hagrid.  I merely suggest that he could have possibly done more for you, like I am prepared to do now.  But first we must discuss the _real_ reason you were expelled: the acromantula pup you were caring for.”

 

An hour later, after much discourse over dangerous magical creatures and why they should not live near a school, Nimue offered Rubeus Hagrid the opportunity of a lifetime: Continued education beyond his Third Year, with a concentration on Magical Creatures, followed by a working fellowship in Care of Magical Creatures and a possible employment opportunity in a Creature Reserve when he was finished.  Nimue understood that it was in Hagrid’s blood to see most dangerous animals as ‘cute and defenseless’, and she was offering a comprehensive education designed to show him the real dangers of such creatures. 

Hagrid was, naturally, upset to learn that the rather large pod of acromantulas would be split and relocated, if not exterminated outright, but he understood that such creatures would naturally grow to hunt and trap the young humans in the school once Aragog, the leader and Hagrid’s ‘friend’, had passed on—and that would be rather soon if Hagrid’s estimate of Aragog’s age was correct.

What really convinced Hagrid to go along with the plan, other than the learning opportunity and ability to perform magic legally, was the knowledge that Fluffy, the Cerberus that Hagrid had somehow come in possession of, would have a happy home in the Reserve that Hagrid would be working for—and that Hagrid would be given plenty of opportunities to come back to Hogwarts for visits.  Since Hagrid had long considered Hogwarts to be his home, and he held great affection for the most recent crop of First-Year students (who, after his tour of the school grounds, had all come to him for information about the school—or just to have tea and a chat), coming back to visit the school was a wonderful incentive, and since he would not be required to leave Hogwarts until term had ended at the end of May, he readily and happily agreed to accept the offer.

Professor McGonagall, whom Hagrid had looked to as a surrogate mother-figure, wept with joy for him when she heard the news, and promised to send Hagrid twice-monthly letters detailing the happenings at Hogwarts so that he wouldn’t miss a thing.

****

**_****           ****           ****           ****           ****_ **

****

**_December 20, 1991—Malfoy Manor_ **

****

Narcissa Malfoy was gliding around the ballroom in Malfoy Manor, straightening centerpieces and adding little detailed touches to the decorations for the annual Yule Ball.  This year would be the first ‘official’ turn-around for the Malfoy family, as many of their previous guests—all known Dark wizards—would not be invited, and many new acquaintances would be attending.

The walls of the ballroom were draped with glittering tinsel and dangling bunches of golden roses.  Fairy lights were floating high near the ceiling, sparkling in multiple colors and providing dim illumination with an almost fairy-tale quality.  Other light sources were candle sconces and floor lanterns with stained-glass covers.  Just before guests were scheduled to arrive, Narcissa would cast a charm that would provide a low, artificial fog to cover the floor of the ballroom.  The whole atmosphere would be ethereal, but there would be no chill to mar the event.

Upstairs, Lucius Malfoy was helping their son, Draco, finish dressing—and giving him a well-timed talking-to.  Draco had come home for Winter break haughty and arrogant, complaining about ‘half-bloods and mud-bloods’ ruining the good name of Wizardkind, and moaning about how everyone should bow down to the Malfoy name now before the Dark Lord returned and ruined them all.  Narcissa had been horrified, both by her son’s attitude and opinion, and by her son’s obvious lack of attention to current events, else he would surely have learned of the Dark Lord’s demise and the reform in the Ministry.

And now, mere hours before the start of the Yule Ball, Lucius was lecturing their son on propriety and his real place in the Wizarding World.  Lucius and Narcissa had both been working tirelessly to elevate the Malfoy name above the position of ‘Dark Lord Follower’, and Narcissa was happy to have rebuilt her relationship with her older sister after so long.  She even had a good relationship with her niece, who was a product of a pure-blood witch and a ‘new-blood’ wizard, and she would be damned if her spoiled son ruined that relationship!  Narcissa didn’t have to be a fly on the wall upstairs to know how that lecture was going; Lucius had been incensed to know that Draco was being molded and prompted by the shade of Lucius’ not-so-dearly departed father, and when Draco actually voiced concern that he would no longer be able to converse with that portrait, Lucius had had to remove himself from the Manor before he lost control of his magic.

That had not been a good day.

Neither had the day that Narcissa’s new friend, Emma Granger, RSVP’d that she would be unable to attend the Ball, but that her daughter, Hermione, would be attending in the company of Lord Adelbert Whitby Porpington, and would it be possible for Emma to come to the Manor a few hours ahead of time to see the decorations before the Ball so that she had a visual reference for when Hermione tried to describe everything to her afterwards.  Naturally, because Narcissa loved showing-off her home, Narcissa agreed to the visit, and she and Emma shared a lovely luncheon with Andromeda while Lucius and Draco headed off to the stables for a father-son chat.  The visit was not a long one, as Emma had to escort her daughter to MerryWear for a final fitting (and then subject said daughter to a photography session as befit an outing to her first formal event), but Narcissa was always happy to spend time with her new friend, and they made plans for lunch on Boxing Day (Emma would cook, and Narcissa would be stepping into the Mundane World for the first time ever).

And now, here she was, directing the musicians into the performance alcove in the balcony over the ballroom and rearranging the decorations slightly to suit her specifications.  And from the sound of silence in the halls, Lucius had erected a sound barrier and was loudly lecturing their son before guests arrived.  Narcissa sighed softly and prayed silently to Lady Magic for a pleasant evening and successful Ball.

 

          @@@

 

The music was sublime, the food was excellent, and the company was gregarious.

People were laughing and chatting and dancing.  Narcissa had received numerous compliments on her home, especially the ballroom and the enchanted garden just outside (several couples had toured the garden, to ‘get some air’ after dancing, and all had come back laughing and flushed with pleasure).

The guest list included elite members of the Ministry of Magic (Minister Amelia Bones attended with her brother, Edgar, and several other Ministry officials and their spouses were seen dancing the night away), Wizengamot members (Lord Porpington, Lord Mendleson, Lord Black), ICWW dignitaries (Special Agent Gabriel Manzini, Education Minister Nabu and his ‘date’ Lady Mera di Salvo), and of course many of Lucius’ new and more reputable business associates.

There were a few more ‘colorful’ attendees, but nobody really questionable.  Mrs. Alphonie Bulstrode had been invited, as had her daughter, Millicent, and they welcomed the kindness of the invitation (Mr. Bulstrode was currently in prison for strong-arming several small-business owners in Diagon Alley, as well as harassing and abusing his own family.  He was a supporter of Voldemort, but was not a marked Death Eater, as he had no real clout to fall back on, but Lucius and Narcissa had decided that his family should not suffer for his own indiscretions, and they had decided to ‘sponsor’ Mrs. Bulstrode as she strove to make her own way in the world.) and several parents of Draco’s classmates were invited along with their children so that Draco could mingle with people his own age.

The only near-catastrophe came when Draco began to bemoan the presence of ‘lesser’ people, and that he couldn’t believe that his parents had lowered themselves to invite ‘filthy mud-bloods’ to their Ball—right behind Lord Porpington, who was dancing with Hermione Granger at the time.  Fortunately Lord Porpington understood that Draco had been mislead for years by his grandfather’s portrait, and Miss Granger (who looked lovely in her sapphire blue gown) simply said that she was sorry that Narcissa’s son was a prat, but she didn’t feel the same about Narcissa. (Lucius chuckled at that, which broke the tension, but from the look in his eyes Draco would be paying for the comment much later in the evening.)

Mrs. Bulstrode and her daughter were noticeably nervous when they arrived, as they had never before been among high society, but Narcissa and Andromeda took the mother aside to make her comfortable and Hermione Granger absconded with young Millicent almost immediately and took her to her other friends, Harry and Neville, where she happily danced and laughed the night away.  Since Millicent was a member of Slytherin House, Narcissa was dismayed to find that Draco had not befriended the girl, but since she didn’t seem to be missing that friendship Narcissa didn’t bring it up.

All in all, the Malfoy Yule Ball was a success.

****

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

**_December 27, 1991—Ottery St. Catchpole_ **

****

Molly Weasley was busy setting breakfast dishes on the kitchen table when her husband announced a family meeting for that evening.

“It’s come to my attention that this family lacks a certain unity.  We’re all working to improve ourselves, me with my new job, Bill and Charlie with their careers in obscure fields, the twins with their experiments leading to I’m not sure what—but we’re not working to improve the family as a whole.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Arthur,” said Molly as she took her seat and began dishing out scrambled eggs.  “I mean, surely what is good for each individual is good for the family.”

“Yes,” agreed Arthur, “and what is good for the family as a whole is better for each individual member.  I’ve finally achieved what I always really wanted, with my new position in the Ministry working between the Magical and Mundane worlds, and with my new position will come more esteem for the Weasley family.  I may never advance high in the Ministry, but I’ve been given the opportunity to hold a seat in the Wizengamot as head of a new Honorable House, and that can only be good for the family as a whole.”

Molly’s eyes grew incredibly huge as she gaped at her husband.  “Arthur!  Just when were you planning on telling me this?”

Arthur looked calmly at his wife.  “I’m telling you now, Molly.  I wanted to wait until after the holiday hub-bub was over, as I was only given the offer during the last Wizengamot session at the beginning of December.  There are details that need to be finalized, of course, and a sponsoring family member will need to stand up for me, but I’ll be ready to take the seat at the start of the New Year.”

 

Arthur fielded minor questions from his children throughout the meal (Charlie was proud as hell and Percy wanted to know if the new position could help him get an internship with the Ministry), but they all ate in peace.  Molly charged her children with clearing the table and cleaning up, and then she confronted Arthur in the den.

“What details need to be finalized, Arthur?” she asked coyly.  “Certainly if they’ve offered you the seat, it’s a done deal.  You can finally become the man you were meant to be.”

Arthur leveled a quelling look at his wife, and Molly sat abruptly on the sofa.  “Molly, before I can confidently take the seat in the Wizengamot, I must establish myself as the uncontested Head of the Weasley Family.  In order to do that, I will be performing a _Regula Patriarcha_ ritual to raise myself above all of my family, which will reinforce my position as Patriarch.”

“Oh, nonsense, Arthur!  Performing some archaic ritual won’t make any difference to us; we all know you’re the head of the family.  The children already look up to you.”  Molly’s words were soothing, but her body language was tense: her hands were clenched together tightly and she was sitting on the edge of her seat.

“Molly,” said Arthur calmly, “this isn’t about the children looking up to me.  This is about asserting authority over the family in such a way as to keep anyone from besmirching our honor.  Is there a reason you don’t want that ritual to be performed, Molly?”

“Really, Arthur?  Why ask such a thing?”

Arthur was rather taken aback by the defensiveness in his wife’s voice, but he recovered quickly.

“Let me tell you a little story, Molly, and then you can fully question my need for this ritual.  Will that be all right?”

Molly nodded and relaxed minutely in her seat.  “Very well, if it will make you feel better.”

Arthur took a seat in his old, worn armchair and settled his gaze on his long-time wife.  She seemed cautiously attentive, and he was almost finding it difficult to believe that she would put the Family Magic in jeopardy the way that she did.  He loved her dearly.  He believed that she loved him.  He never once had considered her to be ambitious beyond their station in life, but after learning what he had about the Prewett Legacy….  Well, he was prepared to save his family, his dignity, and his family’s dignity, and if Molly had to be curbed, so be it.

          @@@

 

Bill watched as his father cast a privacy charm on the den and he readied himself to answer his siblings’ questions, if any were coming.  Percy was, of course, interested in his father’s new position in the Ministry, so Bill had to explain that the Outreach Office was not part of the Ministry per se, but was actually an extension of the ICWW.  That led to a nice discussion about the Outreach Office and its importance to the Wizarding World in general.

Fred and George were most impressed that their father had finally achieved his dream of working with Muggles (“The proper term is ‘Mundanes’, George.”) and was learning all about how people without magic got along.  Percy was actually impressed that their father was chosen to be one of the people to introduce newly magical children to the Wizarding World.  Ginny was unhappy that their father had to consider other people’s children over his own (“It’s not really like that, Gin.  He’s never taken any attention away from you or any of us.”)

Ron wanted to know if there was going to be dessert after the ritual.

Only Charlie had no real questions or concerns, but that may have been because Bill had taken the time just before Christmas to explain that the Weasley Family Magic was in danger, and the cause of said danger came from their mother.  Bill didn’t go into deep detail, but Charlie had broken from the family for much the same reason as Bill, so he had no trouble thinking that their mother could be conniving or duplicitous.  Once Bill revealed Aunt Muriel’s tale of Prewett woe, Charlie was more than ready to believe that the woman who tried to insist that her oldest sons give up their own personal dreams would do anything to reign over the rest of the family.

An hour after breakfast, a knock sounded at the kitchen door, and Bill opened it to reveal Aunt Muriel and a woman he had never met.

“My youngest daughter, Sophie,” said Muriel by way of introduction.  “She is the acknowledged High Priestess of the Prewett Legacy, and as such shall preside over the ritual.”

Bill smiled and extended a hand in greeting.  “Of course.  Welcome, Cousin Sophie, to The Burrow.  I’m sorry we’ve not met until now.”

“Well, that wasn’t for lack of interest, Cousin Bill,” Sophie replied with a smile.  “I’m living in Wales nowadays, and I rarely travel home to visit.  Mother sent word to me after she met with you, and since my children are with my partner’s family now, I made myself available to come.  My heart was hurt when I felt Molly leave the Legacy, but I had always hoped to reconnect with the family.”

Before more than introductions could be made (Sophie was pained to be introduced to Fred and George and she almost visibly recoiled from Ginny), Arthur came in from the den and called his family to attention.

“We’ll be gathering in the den, I think,” he said with a question to Muriel.  When she nodded to confirm the choice, Arthur continued.  “We’ll be performing a special ritual designed to cement my position as Head and Patriarch of the Weasley Family.  This ritual will bring all of you children, with the exception of Bill and Charlie, under my complete purview until you have reached your majority.  This means that you will be unable to act against my wishes until you are ready to make your own way in the world without the Family Magic behind you.”

“Wow, Dad, you make it sound like there are family members here committing crimes or something!”  Fred was joking, of course, trying to break the unsuspected tension in the room, but Arthur’s face grew stony.

“That’s precisely it, Fred,” said Arthur gravely.  “We’re performing this ritual because someone in this family took it upon herself to attempt fraud and theft, and she had to usurp my position as Family Head in order to do so.  And after the ritual is finished, I’ll be laying down some ground rules for social behavior, and I’ll expect them to be followed to the letter.”

 

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

**_To the parents and guardians of current Hogwarts students:_ **

**_Please be advised that there shall be a complete revision of School policy and class structure during the summer break of 1992._ **

**_During this time, teachers and faculty will not be available to answer questions, so you may direct any to the Board of Governors, who will be named at the end of this letter._ **

**_The revision will include adding classes, re-sorting students, expanding the grounds, and adding staff and faculty.  We will complete this revision in order to better compete with the quality of other Magical schools in Europe, and we hope our standards will increase with this endeavor._ **

**_All students under Fourth Year will be re-sorted, as it is now believed that our current method of dividing students is not conducive to their magical development.  I am certain that you will hear complaints from your children about this re-sorting, but understand that we only wish to place our students in a situation where they will gain their best advantage.  To that end, we are hoping that you will support any and all changes that will be made in the coming year._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress_ **

**_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_ **

**_\--And—_ **

**_The Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry:_ **

**_Lady Augusta Longbottom_ **

**_Lord Matthias Greengrass_ **

**_Lucius Malfoy_ **

**_Esmerelda Halworth_ **

**_Lord Mayhew Carbury_ **

****

                   ****            ****            ****            ****            ****

 

**_Dear Harry—_ **

**_First of all, we’re so sorry about what our mother tried to do to you.  We had no idea.  Honest.  When Dad told us, we were horrified.  But now we can totally understand why you were so stand-offish when we first met._ **

**_Ron’s still a bit bitter about the whole thing (he thinks that you should have been happy that Mom wanted to bring you into the family and you should be grateful that you have friends with the Weasleys) and he doesn’t understand that your goals in life do not include becoming someone’s slave.  Go figure._ **

**_Anyway, we’d like to announce that we’d still like to be considered your friends, but we understand if you don’t want that.  We’ll seek you out on the Hogwarts Express, but we’ll totally understand if you send us away._ **

**_Cheers!_ **

**_Fred and George Weasley_ **


End file.
